You Can Do Laundry, Too

     I had all my dirty clothes waiting. No towels. No sheets. Kitchen stuffed til fire hazards abound on the stove top that is OFF (would it ever turn ON?- its electric.)

    I want to do my laundry. My nurse, I met at the medical office- not at home. Boxes everywhere. You don’t need to know. Hard to sleep. Shower packed with boxes. Feels like dying time in a hospice situation.

      I am pallative. Not dying. In pain. I want hygenic clothes. Then not smelling. Wth. I go to do laundry. It is like an undouched… armpit.
My caretaker says, “You know, we are not making it financially… you can do your own laundry.”

     Hers is there. In the machine. Wet. I wait for sunlight. I bite my own bones like a dog. Sunlight, please arrive.

   

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