I make things way too hard.
I mean, this should come as no surprise. But surprise! I am tired of it.
This feeling has been growing all day. This morning, I put one of our Lunch Bots into the dishwasher. I mean, first of all, let's start with the Lunch Bots. They're stainless-steel containers that I bought so we don't have to use plastic baggies for sandwiches. I mean, seriously? OK, so, there's that. And then, even though they're dishwasher-safe, I decided that I prefer that they be hand-washed. That was easy for me to say; Jeffrey does the dishes. But this morning I finally thought, you know, either it goes into the dishwasher or we don't own it.
Then tonight I was separating out the blacks for the laundry. I separate them into 3-4 categories, typically. Black delicates, black utility items (socks, et cetera), faded black items, and then stuff that falls through the cracks. It's completely ridiculous, because we never have black socks clean at the same time as our nice black pants. And then there's the 97-step process that is doing the laundry. I carefully worked out each step to make it the most ecologically sound or the best for the clothes or whatever.
But you know, I'm just tired of it. So I threw all the blacks in the laundry with (gasp!) just plain detergent tonight. Unheard of.
I just want to do things more easily. I remember feeling this way one time before, in second grade. I was just starting to grasp the word "thought." I could spell it, but it took me some actual, hard concentration. What the f* was that g doing in there, anyway? And I knew other people were not busting their asses to spell "thought" right. So one day I decided, what the f. I just threw caution to the wind and wrote "thot." But Mrs. Randle shot me such a look of disappointment.
And that was the end of that.