My laundry pile is growing without me actually adding clothes to it. I know it. It has been staring at me for weeks. Whispers are tugging at my feet, which have dirty sox covering them. I feel the pile, which occupies about 39% of my room slithering towards me, slowly like green vines. I know the stinky, stale sox are negotiating my further existance...like peace makers, writing some sort of treaty. But both sides are getting sick of the tension. Something is going to give. Either I must wash the clothes, or the pile will kill me. Yeah...it is evil. And yes, it's alive.
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