Coming back from our trip to NYC to visit Alex and taking hold of my own home and settling in again I keep thinking: wouldn’t it be great if our lives were more like laundry. Such a wonderful process; the stretched out, sweat stained, frankly odorous stuff of living is miraculously reconstituted. A do-over! With reasonably minor effort all the dirty/unkempt/tangled/rough items we contact are cleansed and deodorized and folded back into their original configuration; a sweet smelling rescue.
Life in general and our lives in particular don’t usually work out this way. I wish we were laundry with a fragrant transfiguration looming. Somehow our reality cannot be folded into nice straight little piles any longer, even with HUGE effort and work. It just ain’t happening. After almost 1 year of struggling to find justice for Morgan Harrington’s murder, we are left with bloodstained clothing on our laps. We wish so much that life indeed really was like the miracle of laundry.
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P.S. bloodstains never come out