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There it is: a jumble of colors, shapes, and textures splayed out upon my floor. The farthest reaches of the piles snake out in crumpled desperation, reaching out to me, reaching out to my bedroom’s four walls.

I stare at them, as a slightly sick feeling quietly gargles in my stomach. I’ve sorted my dirty laundry, it’s now in piles (chaotic, fibrous piles of doom) on my bedroom floor. All I have to do now is take it downstairs, put it in a washing machine, and be at the mercy of the laundry cycle for the rest of the day.

And interspersed between the washing and drying will be folding. A shit ton of folding. I don’t like folding things. That is why the vast majority of my wardrobe already lives on hangers.

I swallow. Wait. I still have underwear. I still have stockings and leggings. Do I really need to do laundry now? Is this a chore I must get done today?

Carefully, I step around the cloth blob that is now my bedroom floor and open my closet door. There is that blue sundress from high school I never wear. Perhaps I could pair it with a short-sleeved red blazer that has been gathering dust this season. The colors will contrast in interesting ways. And here is that leopard print wrap dress from Ann Taylor that makes me feel like a loud, Las Vegas brod who frequently hangs out with the Rat Pack, smoking cigars and drinking scotch. I’lI play up that aesthetic by adding bright accessories—a turquoise belt and a fuchsia camisole underneath. Or, what about my bright green and blue argyle cardigan? An amazing statement piece that I never wear enough. It would look stunning over my forest green dress—add an oxblood colored belt and heels, and I’d be set.

I step away from my closet and promptly return the clothing piles on my floor to the hamper. Clearly, I have enough outfits in my closet to last me a few more days. And I’m excited about them! They will be new combinations, adding life and creativity to my wardrobe.

That sick feeling in my stomach is gone, replaced by the warm, fluttering feeling I get when I’m making something new. Perhaps I take laundry procrastination to new heights (remember, I still have underwear, stockings, and leggings), but at least there is art and creativity up there.

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