I have roughly seven thousand problems, all in the form of dirty laundry. How did I let this happen? Today is literally the sixth day in a row I've woken up, looked at my hamper (well, I can only assume it's my hamper... it's covered in dirty towels), and vowed to catch up on laundry. I used to love doing laundry. Love. It comes out warm and smelling nice and you get to sweep the lint off the lint trap... Then I moved into this house. I love our house, I truly do, but our basement is a death trap. The stairs are narrow and slippery, and the basement is always at least twenty degrees colder than the rest of the house, and the floor is painted but the paint is peeling and rusty and I feel like I'm going to get my feet infected by walking around, and the basement has a billion different rooms which is great for storage but also the perfect place for serial killers to hide. To be honest, it's amazing I've braved doing anything down there at all. But since it's fifty degrees outside today, the basement should only be about thirty degrees, which I can probably manage without a scarf and gloves. So I'm going to be brave.
This, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I made a deal with my roommate that I get ice cream if I finish all my laundry. How dare you?