I nearly snapped over a wet towel and knew it was not really about the towel

Dear Delyara, There it was again, damp and careless and left exactly where it would annoy me most after a day I had already been too available to too many people. I picked it up and felt that hot wave of irritation that tells the truth instantly: this is not about fabric. This is about accumulation. One more small proof that the house will keep reaching for me in low-level ways until I either manage it or become the atmosphere no one wants to be around. I hung it up. I did not shout. Still, something in me stayed angry much longer than the towel deserved.