The washing machine is almost done. This morning I want to get some things done. Last weekend I bummed around. This weekend I'm trying to be less of a couch potato, so I threw laundry in the washer, then wrote Morning Pages. It will be ready for the dryer as I finish this.

Most things I avoid turn out to be this easy. The more time I take imagining complications, the more difficult things seem. If I just do things, they turn out as easy as measuring detergent and turning the knob.

Laundry is too easy to dread, but I talk myself out of doing these things. I'd much rather write Morning Pages. But the machine does the work while I write. It's not an either/or.

Even when a task seems like drudgery — scrubbing the kitchen sink, for example — doing it is fine. I squirt cleanser and scrub while listening to music. Five or ten pleasant minutes later, the sink is clean and I feel good.

I forget that when putting things off.

I resist feeling I have to, but really I almost never have to. Nearly everything is a choice. I chose to do laundry, chose to write Morning Pages, chose to type this. Later, I'll probably choose to scrub the sink.

If I choose otherwise, I'll have fewer pieces of clean clothing and a dirty sink. Who cares? Have to is a lie I tell out of fear. I don't have to believe the lie or the fear.

The washer is done. I'm choosing to move clothes to the dryer. Why not? It's not like I have to and it's just so easy. I should try to remember that.