Crandall Vs. Basketball Shorts After The Laundry Pulled Out The String Once Again

I hate knots. I get obsessed with them - just ask Abu and Ali when, over the summer, somehow Glamis created a tremendous one with her leash after they walked her. I don't like to give up. Rather, I like to go after Gordian Knots with full force, untangling the mess and getting everything back to normal (read power chords in most households after several years of neglect - they like to tangle together like snakes during mating season).

That is why, perhaps, my Monday was definitely a Monday. At night, when I pulled out running shorts from the dryer, several pairs had a tie-string tango and (a) knotted up in a ball and (b) pulled one another from the shorts they are supposed to be attached to.

Step One: Untangle the mess.

Step Two: Rethread the string in the elastic waistbands.

I wish I could say this was easy. I also wish I could say this wasn't aggravating and I loved the thrill of the challenge.

Nope. It was a pain in the ass, but my OCD brain couldn't rest until I accomplished both. There's a metaphor, always, and like Sisyphus and his boulder, so too is knot untangling and rethreading on Mt. Pleasant Avenue.

I'm on Day 1 without the draw to CWP-Fairfield responsibilities (that's a slight exaggeration, as I have portfolios to read and another edition of POW! to edit). I spent Monday of my make-believe vacation with Chitunga as he officially signed a lease to a new Subaru Impreza (I will rest easier knowing his car won't break down in CNY winters). Then we got our haircuts before we both set out into our nerd-land. Before I went to bed, however, I became obsessed with detangling the laundry's shenanigans. I was cursing a storm while Tunga was at the gym, trying to report the damage that my "Twist and Shout" gym shorts decided to do. It was a mess.

Yet, I was triumphant.

Now it's Tuesday. I awake knowing that I spent way too much time in my bedroom cursing my fingers, the small elastic bands that hijacked the pull-string of my shorts, and cursing my tendency to want to right all that is incorrect.

Meanwhile the emails pile up, the summer success pulls me into data collection for the 5th year, and Glamis still wants to go for a walk.

But the running shorts/gym shorts/basketball shorts are repaired (for at least this laundry's cycle).

Groundhog's Day, 2018. This is what is given to us until we no longer have to worry about a thing.