Depending on my mindset, folding laundry can either be a Zen meditation or a criminal interrogation.
As a teenager, laundry was one of the chores given to punish me––although my parents would probably disagree with that declaration.
In my twenties, I spent hours at a laundromat––and hated every sweaty, dirty, moment of it.
Now, I have my own house with a washer and dryer; I can do fluff-n-fold whenever I please; still, I’m tortured with stacks of smelly yoga clothes.
I guess I found the one downside of practicing yoga daily.
Namaste.
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