been away. i reckon i was doing my laundry. yet the ironing saga is merely halfway done. i've almost watched all my recordings of The Book Show yet here i am grasping, panting for adjectives, staring at the creased but folded pile of clothes. hoovering beckons, do we really have to do housework?
of course, the rich don't need to burden themselves with trivial tasks like making their beds. it's the domain of the struggling majority. in reality though, i enjoy cleaning. i'm just bereft of energy.
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