ode to my rack of clean dishes

i don’t mind doing dishes. i find cleaning in general is pretty satisfying. but what i really love is seeing the clean dishes sitting in the rack afterwards. i even let them stay there for a day or two, just because i find it such a pleasing sight. and i don’t like putting them away once they’re dry. i find that part really boring. i think it’s kind of stupid that i don’t mind washing them, love seeing them in the rack, and hate putting them away. what’s the difference between any of those steps? the end result is the same thing — gradually restoring order to my gross little corner of the world — so why should i like one part more than any others?

come to think of it now though, i love hanging laundry to dry on the clothesline for a similar reason. after i’ve finished hanging it all, i like to walk out into the yard and look at the line full of jeans and shirts and sheets. i like it because it feels old fashioned and nice, like the grainy 8 mm film footage they used in the wonder years — nostalgic, warm. and i don’t like putting the laundry away very much since that means i won’t get to see laundry on the line again till the next laundry day. so maybe my love for a rack of clean dishes is similar to that. maybe i enjoy seeing signs of simple, slow living, the evidence of daily rituals of peasant life. i think that’s it.


who leaves a mug on its side and a glass upright to dry? not in my house, pal.

i wonder if i’ll ever find a more mundane personal detail to dissect here. this will be a tough one to top.


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