Laundry, Antidote for Anxiety

Sometimes I think that there must be a clue to the purpose of my life in the lint trap of the dryer. I find myself there, scraping it out, more often than I would expect. I like laundry though; it gives me a sense of efficiency and productivity. It stands in defense of me when I can't seem to keep up on anything else in my life. Haven't sent the grandparents pictures of the grandkids in six months? Hey, there must be some laundry I need to do. Need to make doctor and dentist appointments for the girls, do some Christmas shopping, make half a dozen phone calls in which I will be on hold for an hour, write my Christmas letter? Ella, Lilly, why don't we change your clothes so that I will have a load of laundry to start on?
Speaking of laundry, I have an acquaintance in New Haven who is a Laundry Diva. She folds things in such a way that she never has to do a touch of ironing. I guess her timing must be perfect as well, to get the clothes to just the right point of dryness, but not so hot and dry that the wrinkles are already locked in. I am thinking that perfectionism in this area could really pay off. A scholar friend we knew, who was living bachelor-style for the summer while doing research, swore by the virtues of the slightly damp load of laundry. He said that they dried in the drawers and came out crisper. I really ought to try that...