I do not mind washing the clothes. In fact I like pulling out fresh towels from the dryer and folding them while they are still warm. I like making the grungy clean, and the smell of Tide detergent reminds me of my childhood.
I do not mind sorting the dirty laundry to be washed. Darks in this basket, lights in this one, all whites in this one so that they get bleached. For someone whose closet is organized by color and sleeve length, this sorting gives me peace.
Years ago, my husband enclosed a portion of the garage and ran air condition to it so that I do not have to lug my baskets into the sweltering Florida heat. Which I used to have to do for years. I would sit inside looking at the sorting baskets until finally I got up the energy to lug one of them to the garage heat. So, now, I do not mind lugging the baskets to the laundry room.
However, for some unfathomable reason, I hate putting laundry away. I will have it all folded neatly in the baskets and just dig through it during the week. You would think that not having laundry put away would drive me insane. And, to some point it does. My week is much more peaceful when all the laundry is tucked away or hanging in its color coordinated spot. But sometimes I cannot summon the strength to put it away. I don't know why, but sometimes I hate putting the laundry away. When I do this, my smart aleck husband reminds me that I have simply washed the clothes and I have not done the laundry.