I cringe every time I pass the sink during the day. Bowls sit in a stack, scraps of soggy cereal clinging to the sides. The glasses are sticky with rings of congealing milk. Tealeaves, from morning tea, partially clog the drain���s strainer. Last night���s baking dish sits half-full of oily water, barbeque sauce softening. Clean dishes rest around the sink, tipped upside down and dry, ready to be placed back in cupboards.

However, if I suffer a sudden heart attack, I am almost certain my dying thought won���t be: I neglected to do the dishes one last time.

So, I ignore them and write.