I’m about to throw in the towel.
It’s another day in my pajamas.
Occasionally, these days, I’ve been known to upgrade my outfit to yoga pants and a clean t-shirt if I’m going somewhere fancy like the grocery store or seeing someone from 20 feet away while picking up my kids at the soccer field when they’ve forgotten their phone (again) which means I actually need to exit the car.
I have given up my pre-quarantine standard of dress which consisted entirely of jeans and black t-shirts. Prior to covid, when required to be in the office, I put on a cardigan.
All such fashion pretenses have been abandoned.
Regardless of the wardrobe, laundry still needs to be done.
Locked up at home, the never ending pile of laundry has mocked me for months on end. It sits smugly in the corner and grows ever bigger as I pull fewer and fewer items out of it. Smaller size clothing has moved to the bottom of the file while larger counter parts are constantly near the top.
Elastic-waisted clothing is winning these days.
The pile existed in pre-covid days, but I was not home to take more than a passing notice of its presence. Previously, it seemed to shift and occasionally disappeared entirely on very motivated weekend days.
Accomplishment now consists of picking out the socks and putting them in a drawer. It’s those tiny victories that allow me to feel that I have not entirely lost the war.