Laundry day

When I was in college I would haul my oversize, turquoise green laundry bag to the residence hall's laundry room. From there, I would stuff my clothes into one of the antiquated and rather ominous-looking washers and feed money to the greedy machine. At that point, either because I feared someone would toss out my dripping laundry to use the machine or I worried that I would simply forget to transfer my clothes to the dryer, I usually sat in the room. It was excruciating because not only did the washers and dryers seem to take their sweet time getting the job done but the room got incredibly moist and hot. My eyes would dart back and forth between the slow timers on the machines and beads of water running down the walls.
From that point on, doing laundry has been my least favorite chore.
My first rental actually had a washer and dryer in it. Some saintly former tenant had left them or perhaps my landlord had performed this incredible act of charity. Although I was thrilled to not have to save my quarters, the laundry facility had shortcomings. The main one being there was no vent connected to the dryer. It had a long, plastic accordion-like tube that snaked out from the back. As a result, I was told to stick the end of the tube into a bucket of water. I did so, but every once in a while the tube would break free from the bucket, leaving its gaping mouth floundering on the floor.
Doing my very last load of laundry in the rental, the power knob fell off of the dryer. I took it was a sign that it was really time to leave.
Living in my current apartment, my parents graciously allow me to use their laundry facilities. It saves me money but I have encountered the consequence of packing the laundry basket too high. I've walked out my door the next day and spotted my balled-up socks scattered across the sidewalk. I have had other articles of clothing disappear altogether.
The other day, I returned to my old habit of sitting in the laundry room to observe the washer and dryer in action. Luckily, my mother had her copy of the young adult book, "Hoot" lying on the counter. Unlike my college days, the time went by a little quicker. "Hoot" had me laughing at middle school humor while my parent's dog, Sam, occasionally engaged me in a tug-of-war game with one of her chew toys.
Maybe that's all you need to get through those moments that are mundane and sluggish - a good book and an energetic dog. Through them you realize that the time you have to kill is really the time you should enjoy.

Finding the joy in doing laundry.