So I made a miraculous discovery today; perhaps a point that could be pondered by many philosophers to come! There could even be a BOOK about the notion I've come up with and women all over the world could never disagree that:

Laundry is useless.


Don't misinterpret the term usless because I don't mean in a lazy-"I don't want to do shit"-type of way. Useless, not meaning that it's tediously annoying, but a different way of expressing how meaningless it can become. This only pertains to a certain minority of people. And if one isn't in this group of aching souls, laundry is just laundry. Those whose hearts are consumed by nothing but joy find it to be just another task of the day to label "chore". And who could argue? Why try to look deep into a subject that appears so shallow?

At one point in time I thought my clothes got clean. After wearing those shirts and jeans all I had to do at the end of the week was toss them into the washer and amazingly any memory,stain, or blemish was GONE. But today is different and the past year brings many lessons and hardships. Sifting through T-shirts and pulling panties out of jeans is no longer an empty act...I've realized that no matter how many cycles they go through I still see the times I wore them. My Gap jeans have gone through extensive washes but no amount of Spray'n'Wash will remove Gainseville from them and the white button down will forever protrude that solemn drive 2 hours north. I put a lot of soap in there a couple weeks ago hoping that the ketchup stain from Checkers late night would vanish so I could forget how much fun it was, who paid, and why we were there at such a ludacris hour. But I found myself disapointed as I pulled out those Abercrombie shorts for the third time to find the same faint image of a red spot. I might as well give up on those articles and quit scrubbing in pain or washing with obsession; nothing will let me forget. So if laundry hypothetically doesn't wash away anything,I find no point in straining my back hunched over to pull through darks and lights when every peice just fades into one long, sad memory.

I need a new wardrobe.