Prompt:: Washing the Sins from Under My Skin

Tomorrow is the day I will wash the sins from under my skin. I said that yesterday, but when today got here I found I had too much laundry. Three loads and the time it takes to hang it all out to dry in the treeless back yard, flapping over gray grass too tired to fight the wind lays down before I even step on it. And the dishes, with caked on cheese from the lasagna I made last night. And it seems the kids were even messier than usual, perhaps conspiring to keep me busy pulling sheets and blankest out of vents and fluffing pillows out of the toy box. And how is it so much dust has landed on surfaces overnight? All this must be finished first. And in front of the house there is a small bed of tulips that had never quite kept the bright yellow promise of the packages. These need watering. And further down the walk is the mailbox full of ciculars and one bill with red all capital letters stamped across the face of the envelope: FINAL. NOTICE. Peeling the bill from its folds obligates me to find the checkbook, which takes a little rooting around in the desk drawers, and the sitting and sighing, and resting my chin in my palm as a tear leaves home, and runs away down my face to drop onto the signature line. My sins will have to wait until tomorrow.