Since I had a good idea that Russell and I were going to be only people up at the house this weekend, I decided it was time to pick up all the clothes that have lined my bedroom floor or been stuffed in the closet up to Tahoe and run them all through the washing machine. I brought four bags of laundry. Russell was laughing at me when I jammed them all in the Pig, but, fuck it, I couldn't pass up this opportunity to clean and purge.

So we get up here, move all the bags into the house and I start running loads. The first load goes fine, but I use up the last of the laundry powder. When I put the second load it, I just grabbed the plastic bottle and started pouring it on top of my clothes before I looked at the label. As I was pouring, I noticed the word "Bleach" prominently featured on the label. Fuck!

I tried to wash of the bleach under the flume of water streaming down on the clothes, but to no avail. Large white and magenta spots started to appear all over the clothes. Sigh. I just ran the load and just planned to deal with it when it was all dry.

There were a few causalities, a few shirts I liked, a pair of khakis from the Gap, some sheets, but nothing in there was less than 5 years old and in general, my wardrobe is pretty dated. I haven't bought much in the way of clothes since I got back from Samoa which means that most of what I wear is at least two years old. Some it dates back to college.

So it's probably time to rid myself of some of these old duds anyway and if it takes a laundry room mishap to force my hand, so be it.