Fabric Softener, Synonyms and Self-Respect

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I can’t believe I’m about to do what I’m about to do.

I have no shame.

It’s almost certain my self-respect has gasped its last eternal sad breath.

Here it is.

The picture to say what my words fail to convey.

Shall this be one of my life’s biggest regrets?

Oh the humiliation…

Oh the discomfiture…

Oh the ignominy…

(Oh how thankful for synonym suggestions)

I give you…


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Yes, my laundry.

A laundry state the great Mrs Woog herself would nod at multiple times exuding unbridled empathy with much passion, while my children look on in embarrassing disbelief that I have published our messy laundry for the world to see… namely their mates… and their mates mums and dads.

The sign on my laundry door warns this…

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I wish I could walk around with this sign blu-tacked to my forehead. But I would look silly.

So obviously I would have to change it to this…

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Now that wouldn’t look anywhere near as silly… would it?

I’m suffering the indignity of airing my laundry to the inter-webs for one reason and one reason only.

To show you what my words cannot reveal.

That my laundry is what the inside of my head looks like and feels like… one big scruffy unorganised mess. (And you thought this was going to be a vent about laundry… sorry!)

I haven’t blogged for weeks.

My thoughts are jumbled (maybe smelly) piles of wrinkled stains!

Just stagnant mounds of annoying heaps and I can’t see the colours from the whites.

You all know the frantic affect such a laundry state has on your family… right?

“Have you seen my favourite shirt?”

“Where’s my sport shorts?” 

“I don’t have any clean undies?”

“Muuum! I think something died in the laundry”

Well the inside of your head looking like a tragic laundry has much the same dysfunctional effect on a family.

Take shopping for instance:-

Stand in supermarket; look at list that took me two days to write; look down aisles; can’t connect the dots; walk back to car; drive home.

Think you get the picture.

I won’t go on and on.

Besides, my brain has just had another laundry dump arrive from the endless shute of fuddlement and the words I want to write are suffocating somewhere under a pile of something… … ummm… see?… can’t even hear the muffled cries of describing words anymore!

So this is what my chemo brain and the picture of my laundry have in common… 12 FREAKIN MONTHS AFTER TREATMENT!

Full of jumbled stagnant stuff not going anywhere, not connecting with anything and no fairy in sight waving a magic wand to make it all disappear.

So, if you see me wandering aimlessly down the street, shopping list in hand, wearing mis-matched creased clothing, mumbling something inaudible about fabric softener, synonyms and self-respect, just make sure the sign on my forehead is secure for all to see as you duck and weave across my unpredictable path and take heart knowing that once I’ve aired my dirty laundry for the world to see and compared it to the inside of my head there is only one place I can be headed… up!

What the hell does ignominy mean anyhow?

How would you describe the current state of your laundry?

Anyone else had chemo brain?

Screen Shot 2014-11-16 at 10.19.25 amSandra is a seasoned soggy rain dancer weathering life’s storms while sharing thoughts on living life and anything else that may drench her in the next shower!

You can find her puddle jumping over at Sandra Kelly – What lies within www.sandrakelly.me