The reason I hadn't washed my clothes or my hair was because it seemed so silly. I saw the day of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue. It seemed silly to wash one day when I would only have to wash again the next. It made me tired just to think of it. I wanted to do everything once and for all and be done with it.
The narrator reflects on her reluctance to engage in daily routines such as washing clothes or hair, perceiving these tasks as trivial. She imagines her future days as endless, uniform intervals marked only by sleep, which only emphasizes the monotony of life. The stark, repetitive nature of each day feels overwhelming, contributing to her disillusionment with the mundane aspects of existence.
This sensation leads her to resist taking action, as it seems pointless to maintain cleanliness when the cycle will soon repeat itself. The desire for finality in her tasks highlights her exhaustion and frustration with the relentless demands of everyday life, revealing a deeper struggle with motivation and purpose amidst her mental turmoil.
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