The Room I am In

I have a hard time saving the things that I write. Now that I am getting back into writing, I figured that I can keep my writing here.


The Room I am In.
I look to the right and see the mound of clean laundry in the old stuffed gray recliner with the dirty spotted upholstery. The chair has seen better days. We basically use it to hold the laundry until it can be folded and put away. This load is a tangled mess of black dress pants and tan towels with a stray red marled sock in the mix. Darks and lights tangled together. I personally must not have put this load in the washer. It looks like the sorting capabilities of a sixteen year old boy in a hurry to do his chores.

I really should get those clothes folded but I am feeling lazy like the big fluffy tan, white and black dog all sprawled out on the dirty wooden floor. That reminds me. I need to sweep and mop the floors. The warm sun coming through the window magnifies the dust. At this very moment. I don’t care.