I did laundry yesterday.
I know that's not really a blog worthy post (but hey, what is, really?) but laundry stresses me out these days, and it never really used to.
I mean, sure, it was always kind of annoying, and meant a chunk of time and folding or hanging or sorting socks or whatever, but now? Now, laundry delivers me an additional slice of anxiety that just, frankly, sucks.
See, my building has a common laundry area. "Common" being the key term here, in our pandemic world.
Even with precautions in place... making sure no one else is in there, or has been for a while (assuming), and washing my hands, or even wearing gloves (I'm trying to reduce my environmental impact with the gloves and wearing them less.... and I suppose that's for another time) I still worry about being down there. I worry about breathing things in, or breathing things out. I used to do my folding and sorting and stuff in the room, but now I think I should leave soon in case someone else wants in. So it's no longer just some mindless slightly annoying task, it's somewhere I need to be aware and mindful of touching things and surfaces and the air and others.
Not that we're that massive of a building or anything... my Mom is worried about her place and the older folks and the shared laundry on their floor... (I suppose I come by my worry honestly, eh?)
I suppose the reality is that everything makes me anxious. Or, I'm anxious about everything. Despite the fact I've been fairly healthy all year so far... as far as I know. (A cold in January and the cold the other week). I'm not doing a very good job at convincing myself to "relax" about this virus. And that makes it hard for me to think ahead or to "what if" into the future (both anxiety producing things.)
Anyway... I'm babbling. I did laundry. It's no longer stress-free. Blah. But, hey, clean sheets are nice to sleep on... so, there's that.