You'd like to think they'd do the same for you as you've done for them.
You'd like to think that because it wasn't always so bad, maybe it'll get better.
You'd like to think maybe one day, they'll appreciate all you've ever done.
You'd like to think you stand to gain back just a fraction of what you've put into it.
You'd like to think that all the years you've spent giving up your own happiness weren't a colossal waste.
I guess it's possible. Anything is possible. According to Infinite Probability, there's a possibility that I might one day open my dryer to find all the laundry has folded itself.
 |
| Oh. Yay, I guess. |
That's what I read, anyway. But I don't think I'm going to hold my breath, waiting for it to happen.
All that time? It's gone. It's never coming back. The life you missed while waiting for that certain someone to see the value in you cannot be retrieved.
Maybe if you wait a little longer, that laundry will fold itself. One day.
But I doubt it.
And even if it does....
Let's say it does. You're 75 years old. You've spent the last 55 years of your life waiting on that laundry to magically fold itself and justify all the nights you've stayed home alone, waiting for that moment. And then one day, it happens. You open the dryer, and the laundry is folded.
You've been folding this god damn laundry for 55 fucking years, and the only thing you have to show for it now is this one time, one single, fucking time, it finally folded itself and....and what? Are you supposed to be impressed? Did you really just spend all these years waiting on this laundry to do the very basic and minimal thing you've already been doing this whole fucking time? Do you think it's going to put itself away, now, too? Maybe hang itself up in the closet? Take you to the movies and buy you roses in appreciation for all the times you cared enough to wash and dry and fold it by yourself?
Fuck the laundry. Fuck all the time you've spent on it. And fuck waiting around on it to give a shit.
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