🛍️ Folding Myself Away

Every day, I’m surrounded by endless racks of cotton, polyester, and hangers that squeak when they turn. Shirts in every size. Pants that never seem to stay folded. Mountains of clothes that somehow multiply when I’m not looking.

I organize, straighten, restock—over and over. My hands move on autopilot, but my mind is somewhere else—thinking about how I’ve been here all day and not one person has said, “Good job.” Just, “Can you fix this?” or “This needs to be done now.”

It’s strange, pouring your energy into a space where your work gets undone in minutes. You fold a perfect table, turn your back, and someone’s rifled through it like a storm. You smile. You fix it again. You keep going.

I try to hold onto my sanity in small ways—counting the minutes until lunch 🍔, humming to the store music, finding satisfaction in a perfectly lined-up row of tags.

It’s exhausting. It’s invisible. But I do it anyway. Not because I’m appreciated (I’m not), but because walking away from the mess feels worse than fixing it.

Still, I wish someone would see the effort before it’s gone.