#it’s very funny to picture the poets doing laundry

[sarcasmic-skies]

the dead poets vs. laundry 🧺

based on this post by @tuskofthyme <3

i’ve worked in the laundry industry for 4+ yrs so i feel qualified to speak on the matter 😌✨(jokes!)

**i wrote these hcs under the assumption the welton boys are responsible for their own laundry & i tried to adjust to be accurate to 1959!! the first bullet points for charlie & knox i based on a guy my sister knew in college! he was from vermont & yes, that’s the god-honest truth. it makes me laugh every time i think abt it, which is at least once a day

charlie:

him & knox never learned how to do laundry so they just. buy new clothes whenever they run out of clean ones. meeks & todd are horrified.

purchases only name-brand garments. never looks at price tags (trust fund baby)

calls the laundromat a “laundry-mat”

charlie’s mother washes his clothes for him whenever he’s home. he always says thank-you and kisses her on the cheek <3 (he’s a mama’s boy)

after rowing practice he throws his dirty uniform in a pile in the corner of his & cameron’s room. the pile grows through the term, along with mold and mildew :)

favorite garment: a bright pink polo shirt he bought after reading ‘a separate peace’ (1959)

has really nice clothes but doesn’t take care of em (“i can’t put my leather jacket in the washing machine??! what do you mean i’m gonna ruin it?!? cows don’t get ruined when it rains!!!”)

once, charlie was trying to be funny and got stuck in one of the dryers at the laundromat. it took the combined efforts of pitts, meeks, todd, neil, and knox to pull him out.

neil:

watched his mother do the laundry growing up & learned by observation. his aunt taught him how to sew at the age of twelve

always lays his beloved wool sweaters flat to dry so they wont shrink in the dryer

hangs his pants with a crease. color-codes his closet. repairs any tears in his clothes with his travel-size mending kit

pairs & rolls his socks, most of which are argyle

embroiders tiny hearts on the inside of all his sweater sleeve cuffs for todd to find

goes with todd, meeks, and pitts to the laundromat every sunday after welton’s mass

gave up on trying to teach charlie proper garment care years ago (he refuses to learn)

always makes an effort to look polished and sharp. takes really good care of his clothes. mr. perry loves to remind neil that “appearances are everything”

likes to read the movie magazines at the laundromat. gossips with the older women about montgomery clift, rock hudson, and tab hunter

has to fight the urge to jump in one of the laundry carts and roll around the store every time he’s there bc carpe diem!

todd:

he’s helped his mom with the laundry from the time he could reach the dials on the washing machine. todd’s learned just about everything there is to know abt household laundry & can fold fitted sheets. perfectly <3

todd finds laundry very calming and satisfying. nice to turn his brain off and just focus on folding & hanging his clothes nicely :,)

jeff always said “thanks little man” when todd ‘delivered’ clean clothes to him. todd misses that. a lot. so does jeff.

wardrobe comprised of almost exclusively jeff’s hand-me-downs (they are a little big on him)

is a GOD when it comes to getting stains out. not even spilled ink can withstand his technique

hangs his pants with a crease, doesn’t fold em. ALWAYS checks the pockets before washing

enjoys the trips to the laundromat more than he lets on. helps him feel less homesick

pairs & rolls his socks, organizes them by color in his drawer

always checks garment tags for proper care instructions. hates having to pay for drycleaning

meeks:

neil taught him & pitts the art of laundry

measures out the detergent with the utmost precision. refuses to use bleach

does not separate darks from lights from whites (“after you’ve washed them a few times the colors shouldn’t bleed or transfer! i refuse to do multiple loads!”)

does pitts’ laundry for him helps pitts with his laundry

always brings extra change for the jukebox <3

keeps forgetting he has pens in his shirt pockets and they explode in the wash. ink ends up all over his clothes more than a few times. (todd comes to the rescue in these situations)

not fantastic at folding but better than some

washes everything on ‘cold’ (“it conserves energy & water”), dries everything on ‘low’ (meeks is terrified of starting a dryer fire)

helps the older women in the laundromat a lot. they always compliment him and try to set him up with their daughters, nieces, granddaughters, etc. (“such a nice boy!”)

pitts:

forgets to check the pockets of his clothes before loading them in the washing machine

washes everything on ‘hot’ (“it sanitizes the fabrics!”), dries everything on ‘high’ (then wonders why his pants keep getting shorter)

doesn’t fold his clean clothes, just puts em in a basket. refuses to pair his socks

is asked to help fold sheets, comforters, quilts, etc. by the older ladies in the laundromat all the time bc he is so TALL! pitts is always happy to assist <3

endlessly appreciative whenever meeks does laundry for him

made the mistake of putting a brand new pair of red socks in with the whites the first time he washed his clothes by himself. his undershirts, underwear, socks, & rowing sweater all came out bright pink, like marilyn monroe’s satin dress in ‘gentlemen prefer blondes’. charlie never let him hear the end of it.

cameron:

gets up early every morning to press his shirts & crease his pants with his personal clothes iron

uses sock garters to keep his nylon stretch socks up. sometimes forgets to unclip them & they go through the wash lol

for the longest time he was using shirt hangers for pants and pant hangers for shirts. charlie pointed it out. they argued about it for 20+ minutes (“how would you know? you don’t even do your own laundry!” “big deal! anyone can tell the difference! haven’t you ever picked up dry cleaning?!” “sure i have, but who pays attention to the hangers?!” “i want a divorce, richard”)

bleaches his whites to keep em ✨pristine���

sometimes overfills the dryer. forgets to clean out the lint trap. gets his quarters stuck in the machines. a lot.

pretreats all stains. scrubs them out with his designated laundry toothbrush and powder soap (this is the most time-consuming part of cam’s laundering process). he’ll ask todd for advice if a stain is particular stubborn

pairs & folds his socks in half like a heathen

his mother hand-sews labels with his full name on em into every single article of clothing he owns. he refuses to be made fun of for this

knox:

no idea how to do laundry. absolutely no clue. like charlie, he buys new clothes whenever he runs out of clean ones

always forgets to cut the sale tags off and remove the big paper collar stays n shirt pins from his new clothes n dress shirts. neil helps.

knox overstreet alone keeps the town dry cleaners in business with the two-dozen cashmere cardigans he drops off each month

“i have nothing to wear!” “knoxious i swear to god if you say that one more time i am going to slap you into next week”

tagged along to help the poets with their laundry once. started a dryer fire. twice.

his dad bought him his first ever pair of blue jeans, the exact same as those worn by james dean in ‘rebel without a cause’ (“don’t tell your mother”). knoxious refuses to wash them, he’s convinced they’ll get ruined. knox & charlie start to call them his ‘james jeans’

[hotchley]

🐨 Yo, I’m a finalist in a poetry contest! Woah! It was a contest where you could only submit poems that have been previously rejected, and if you didn’t advance, they sent you a picture of an ostrich instead of a rejection letter. It’s hilarious. Right now, people are voting for the final poems. I’m not in the lead or anything, but it’s still super cool just to be amongst all these really awesome poets.

I’m a bit swamped by school work at the moment, but it’s a long weekend so I have some time at least.

What’s the latest with you at Uni? I’ve been working on my college applications, so we’ll see how all that progresses.

Oh my goodness that is so cool! Well done for trying and for getting so far!! Very excited for you <3

This sounds like an excellent competition and we need more like that. I mean, even if you aren't in the lead, you put yourself out there and you like what you write which matters the most. And everyone else is probably also like: oh wow these other people are the coolest.

No because same, I don't know where the week went (well i do, but you know) and I literally haven't gotten anything done all week. And I've come down for the weekend so I can just tell Monday is going to be a catch-up day... I could do stuff now but just ugh.

You know what, uni hasn't been shit! I've made a few more friends so now I have people to spend time with in between lectures and it's less lonely which is nice. There's also a ton of events next week for charity and I'm going to a few so hopefully I'll meet some people then! We still don't have heating or hot water but I do have a portable heater and I'm showering in a really nice bathroom so it balances out (ish but not really...)

My actual degree is quite fun and I am enjoying it quite a bit. My favourite module is the one everyone else hates which is just so typical. It was a bit awkward because there was some super-conservative guy but that was a one-off. Also my tutorial group is really nice but there's this one guy that doesn't give anyone else a chance and this one girl who also doesn't stop talking and it got to the point in one of them where the lead could see I wanted to speak so he asked the question then looked at me and went: do you want a go? That was a little awkward. And! My lecturer ended up taking one of my tutorials which was a little scary but he's the sweetest.

Oh. Funny story. I didn't do laundry before I came down last time because I thought: I can carry it! So I did it on Wednesday because taking it down is a nightmare. Only problem is, I'm really short so I had to ask someone to get part of it down from the dryer for me. Awful. Absolutely awful.

But yeah! That's uni life! The freedom is a bit strange. I'm still somewhat lacking in routine but it's coming together. Good luck with college! And remember: it's better to be yourself and get rejected because then you know they weren't the place for you

[raisingsupergirl]

Daydreaming: The Secret to Surviving Change

I often ramble on about how life is constantly changing. But I’m not the only one. Artists, poets, musicians, farmers, and fishermen—they all know and respect that unceasing march from the beginning of time to whatever end the Big Man has planned. And all of us, no matter where our focus lies, feel the effects of change in one way or another. But that's the funny thing about time—it continues on whether we're paying attention or not. 

I read this book one time about smart stuff (The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene), and one thing that has stuck with me is the idea that our universe is not only expanding, but it's accelerating. Like, the edges of our universe aren't slowing their progress as we would expect, or even staying constant, but they're actually speeding up, racing toward some ultimate goal. One of the reasons why this thought has made such an impact on my thinking is because it so perfectly mirrors what's happening on a smaller scale all around us. The advancements of science, technology, communication, and human civilization as a whole seem to be increasing exponentially with no end in sight. I know this to be true because I see it played out daily in my own life, and sometimes it seems like there's no way to keep up.

But what in the world does that mean, keep up? Is it what we do with the Joneses, the Kardashians, or the laundry? If we don't get the newest iPhone the week it comes out, how will we be able to sync that week's 72 meetings with the cloud so we can be reminded every 3 minutes that we're late for something?

When I put it like that, it’s pretty obvious that this version of "keeping up" will pull us so far behind that we’ll never have a chance, isn’t it? But if sprinting through the rat race isn't the answer, what is? Well, I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to laugh. Okay, fine. I'll tell you either way. If you really want a clear picture of the world around you, you just have to stop, step back, and take a look.

That's right. All you have to do is the exact opposite of everything western civilization has been claiming for the last century. Sure, buying, selling, and consuming are essential for fueling the flames of capitalism and all that, but humans weren't created to perform the work of machines. And living in such a way will never result in happiness. Trust me. I know.

I've been working through a lot of stuff lately. I've gone through some changes at my day job that I've had to adjust to, opportunities have arisen in my writing career that may open up even more doors, I've taken on greater responsibilities in both the youth group I help lead and in my local freemason lodge, I've made some financial changes to help my family’s future, my little super girl just had a Beauty and the Beast party for her third birthday, and oh yeah, my wife is 8 months pregnant with our second daughter. And those are just the big things. Needless to say, it's all been a lot to process physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Sure, it would have been a lot easier to dive in headfirst and attempt to wrestle them all to the ground, but I knew in my heart that doing so would have only resulted in failure. How did I know, you ask? Why, because I took two seconds to think about it, that's how.

Most of my revelations happened on my back porch or in my shower, but I never missed a quiet opportunity to address the massive amounts of change that were weighing on my life. It's not that I had some special mediation technique or psychological training to unlock the secret to how to handle these things. Quite the opposite, actually. I just allowed my mind the freedom to work through it all. Some may call it daydreaming, and that's fine, but doing so runs the risk of avoiding the important topics. Yes, my thoughts wandered to strange and distant shores, but there was always that undercurrent of the now to direct them. And with a little help from my wife, my mom, my friends, and my God along the way, I've arrived at a very healthy place (I should note that asking for advice and help from all of these sources is very out of character for me. Not that I'm so prideful as to never ask for help, but this sort of internal chaos is something I almost never struggle with. So if I can do it, you can too).

Did I quit my job and go on some soul-searching adventure? Of course not. I have family, co-workers, and friends who depend on me, and I depend on them, too. That's not to say some great spiritual journey is always out of the question. It just wasn't necessary in my case, or even my best option. You see, God has called us to be in the world, but not of it, and realizing just how far the worries of the world had grown up around me was the biggest step to getting a handle on things. Of course, my journey's not over. I still have moments of insecurity and fear, but where once I only saw clouds on the horizon, I'm now able to look toward the future with clarity and excitement.

That is, until my phone goes off and reminds me that I'm late for a meeting. Hey, I did say that my journey wasn't over yet, didn't I?

[readbookywooks]

'How about “zsff”?' said Twoflower. 'Don't be silly,' said Rincewind. 'With snow runes the —' Bethan elbowed him in the stomach and pointed. The brown shape in the air was now a brilliant red. The book trembled in her hands. Rincewind grabbed her around the waist, snatched Twoflower by the collar, and jumped backwards. Bethan lost her grip on the Octavo, which tumbled towards the floor. And didn't reach it. The air around the Octavo glowed. It rose slowly, flapping its pages like wings. Then there was a plangent, sweet twanging noise and it seemed to explode in a complicated silent flower of light which rushed outwards, faded, and was gone. But something was happening much further up in the sky . . . Down in the geological depths of Great A'Tuin's huge brain new thoughts surged along neural pathways the size of arterial roads. It was impossible for a sky turtle to change its expression, but in some indefinable way its scaly, meteor-pocked face looked quite expectant. It was staring fixedly at the eight spheres endlessly orbiting around the star, on the very beaches of space. The spheres were cracking. Huge segments of rock broke away and began the long spiral down to the star. The sky filled with glittering shards. From the wreakage of one hollow shell a very small sky turtle paddled its way into the red light. It was barely bigger than an asteroid, its shell still shiny with molten yolk. There were four small world-elephant calves on there, too. And on their backs was a discworld, tiny as yet, covered in smoke and volcanoes. Great A'Tuin waited until all eight baby turtles had freed themselves from their shells and were treading space and looking bewildered. Then, carefully, so as not to dislodge anything, the old turtle turned and with considerable relief set out on the long swim to the blessedly cool, bottomless depths of space. The young turtles followed, orbiting their parent. Twoflower stared raptly at the display overhead. He probably had the best view of anyone on the Disc. Then a terrible thought occurred to him. 'Where's the picture box?' he asked urgently. 'What?' said Rincewind, eyes fixed on the sky. 'The picture box,' said Twoflower. 'I must get a picture of this!' 'Can't you just remember it?' said Bethan, not looking at him. 'I might forget.' 'I won't ever forget,' she said. 'It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.' 'Much better than pigeons and billiard balls,' agreed Cohen. 'I'll give you that, Rincewind. How's it done?' 'I dunno,' said Rincewind. 'The star's getting smaller,' said Bethan. Rincewind was vaguely aware of Twoflower's voice arguing with the demon who lived in the box and painted the pictures. It was quite a technical argument, about field depths and whether or not the demon still had enough red paint. It should be pointed out that currently Great A'Tuin was very pleased and contented, and feelings like that in a brain the size of several large cities are bound to radiate out. In fact most people on the Disc were currently in a state of mind normally achievable only by a lifetime of dedicated meditation or about thirty seconds of illegal herbage. That's old Twoflower, Rincewind thought. It's not that he doesn't appreciate beauty, he just appreciates it in his own way. I mean, if a poet sees a daffodil he stares at it and writes a long poem about it, but Twoflower wanders off to find a book on botany. And treads on it. It's right what Cohen said. He just looks at things, but nothing he looks at is ever the same again. Including me, I suspect. The Disc's own sun rose. The star was already dwindling, and it wasn't quite so much competition. Good reliable Disc light poured across the enraptured landscape, like a sea of gold. Or, as the more reliable observers generally held, like golden syrup. That is a nice dramatic ending, but life doesn't work like that and there were other things that had to happen. There was the Octavo, for example. As the sunlight hit it the book snapped shut and started to fall back to the tower. And many of the observers realised that dropping towards them was the single most magical thing on the Discworld. The feeling of bliss and brotherhood evaporated along with the morning dew. Rincewind and Twoflower were elbowed aside as the crowd surged forward, struggling and trying to climb up one another, hands outstretched. The Octavo dropped into the centre of the shouting mass. There was a snap. A decisive snap, the sort of snap made by a lid that doesn't intend to be opening in a hurry. Rincewind peered between someone's legs at Twoflower. 'Do you know what I think's going to happen?' he said, grinning. 'What?' 'I think that when you open the Luggage there's just going to be your laundry in there, that's what I think.' 'Oh dear.' 'I think the Octavo knows how to look after itself. Best place for it, really.' 'I suppose so. You know, sometimes I get the feeling that the Luggage knows exactly what it's doing.' 'I know what you mean.' They crawled to the edge of the milling crowd, stood up, dusted themselves off and headed for the steps. No-one paid them any attention. 'What are they doing now?' said Twoflower, trying to see over the heads of the throng. 'It looks as though they're trying to lever it open,' said Rincewind. There was a snap and a scream. 'I think the Luggage rather enjoys the attention,' said Twoflower, as they began their cautious descent. 'Yes, it probably does it good to get out and meet people,' said Rincewind, 'and now I think it'd do me good to go and order a couple of drinks.' 'Good idea,' said Twoflower. 'I'll have a couple of drinks too.' It was nearly noon when Twoflower awoke. He couldn't remember why he was in a hayloft, or why he was wearing someone else's coat, but he did wake up with one idea right in the forefront of his mind. He decided it was vitally important to tell Rincewind about it. He fell out of the hay and landed on the Luggage. 'Oh, you're here, are you?' he said. 'I hope you're ashamed of yourself.' The Luggage looked bewildered. 'Anyway, I want to comb my hair. Open up,' said Twoflower. The Luggage obligingly flipped its lid. Twoflower rooted around among the bags and boxes inside until he found a comb and mirror and repaired some of the damage of the night. Then he looked hard at the Luggage. 'I suppose you wouldn't like to tell me what you've done with the Octavo?' The Luggage's expression could only be described as wooden. 'All right. Come on, then.' Twoflower stepped out into the sunlight, which was slightly too bright for his current tastes, and wandered aimlessly along the street. Everything seemed fresh and new, even the smells, but there didn't seem to be many people up yet. It had been a long night. He found Rincewind at the foot of the Tower of Art, upervising a team of workmen who had rigged up a gantry of sorts on the roof and were lowering the stone wizards to the ground. He seemed to be assisted by a monkey, but Twoflower was in no mood to be surprised at anything. 'Will they be able to be turned back?' he said. Rincewind looked around. 'What? Oh, it's you. No, probably not. I'm afraid they dropped poor old Wert, anyway. Five hundred feet onto cobbles.' 'Will you be able to do anything about that?' 'Make a nice rockery.' Rincewind turned and waved at the workmen. 'You're very cheerful,' said Twoflower, a shade reproachfully. 'Didn't you go to bed?' 'Funny thing, I couldn't sleep,' said Rincewind. 'I came out for a breath of fresh air, and no-one seemed to have any idea what to do, so I just sort of got people together,' he indicated the librarian, who tried to hold his hand, 'and started organising things. Nice day, isn't it? Air like wine.' 'Rincewind, I've decided that —' 'You know, I think I might re-enroll,' said Rincewind cheerfully. 'I think I could really make a go of things this time. I can really see myself getting to grips with magic and graduating really well. They do say if it's summa cum laude, then the living is easy – .' 'Good, because —' There's plenty of room at the top, too, now all the big boys will be doing doorstop duty, and —' 'I'm going home.' '— a sharp lad with a bit of experience of the world could – what?' 'Oook?' 'I said I'm going home,' repeated Twoflower, making polite little attempts to shake off the librarian, who was trying to pick lice off him. 'What home?' said Rincewind, astonished. 'Home home. My home. Where I live,' Twoflower explained sheepishly. 'Back across the sea. You know. Where I came from. Will you please stop doing that?' 'Oh.' 'Oook?' There was a pause. Then Twoflower said, 'You see, last night it occurred to me, I thought, well, the thing is, all this travelling and seeing things is fine but there's also a lot of fun to be had from having been. You know, sticking all your pictures in a book and remembering things.' 'There is?' 'Oook?' 'Oh, yes. The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you've got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You've got to stop. You haven't really been anywhere until you've got back home. I think that's what I mean.' Rincewind ran the sentence across his mind again. It didn't seem any better second time around. 'Oh,' he said again. Well, good. If that's the way you look at it. When are you going, then?' 'Today, I think. There's bound to be a ship going part of the way.' 'I expect so,' said Rincewind awkwardly. He looked at his feet. He looked at the sky. He cleared his throat. 'We've been through some times together, eh?' said Twoflower, nudging him in the ribs. 'Yeah,' said Rincewind, contorting his face into something like a grin. 'You're not upset, are you?' 'Who, me?' said Rincewind. 'Gosh, no. Hundred and one things to do.' That's all right, then. Listen, let's go and have breakfast and then we can go down to the docks.' Rincewind nodded dismally, turned to his assistant, and took a banana out of his pocket. 'You've got the hang of it now, you take over,' he muttered. 'Oook.' In fact there wasn't any ship going anywhere near the Agatean Empire, but that was an academic point because Twoflower simply counted gold pieces into the hand of the first captain with a halfway clean ship until the man suddenly saw the merits of changing his plans. Rincewind waited on the quayside until Twoflower had finished paying the man about forty times more than his ship was worth. 'That's settled, then,' said Twoflower. 'He'll drop me at the Brown Islands and I can easily get a ship from there.' 'Great,' said Rincewind. Twoflower looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he opened the Luggage and pulled out a bag of gold. 'Have you seen Cohen and Bethan?' he said. 'I think they went off to get married,' said Rincewind. 'I heard Bethan say it was now or never.' 'Well, when you see them give them this,' said Twoflower, handing him the bag. 'I know it's expensive, setting up home for the first time.' Twoflower had never fully understood the gulf in the exchange rate. The bag could quite easily set Cohen up with a small kingdom. 'I'll hand it over first chance I get,' he said, and to his own surprise realised that he meant it. 'Good. I've thought about something to give you, too.' 'Oh, there's no —' Twoflower rummaged in the Luggage and produced a large sack. He began to fill it with clothes and money and the picture box until finally the Luggage was completely empty. The last thing he put in was his souvenir musical cigarette box with the shell-encrusted lid, carefully wrapped in soft paper.