Laundry and I don't get along

Laundry? Not my forte, although not the only thing that isn't my forte, as previously discussed. I didn't realize how bad I am at it until Megan O, my other mother Jill, Mom and I started talking about it the other day. Sorting colors and selecting water temp/cycle/load size etc are easy peasy but beyond that I struggle. On a fairly regular basis I either start the washing machine without adding detergent and or I don't start the dryer after transferring my clothes until I two hours have gone by and I realize the buzzer still hasn't sounded. Dryer sheets? I've just stopped buying any; remembering to put them in with my clothes is just beyond me.
One of my worst laundry moments came when my mom was at The Stanford House one. I mistakenly blamed her on my mental block. When I went downstairs to check on a load I had started, the washing machine lid was open and my poor clothes were floating in a few gallons of water. "MOM! Why did you open the washing machine? My clothes are drowning!" I shouted up the stairs at her.
"Caley," she patiently responded from the basement door, "I didn't touch your washing machine. I have been up here with you the whole time." For at least 3-4 minutes I stood in front of my laundry soup until I figured out that when I was the one who hadn't shut the top after pulling the start knob, causing it to stall just before the spin cycle. Impressive.
I also have a new found talent for being an idiot when making the bed. The other day I actually managed to successfully wash and dry my amazing organic sheets (and I'm not exaggerating, they are really amazing, kind of silky without being sleazy and the perfect summer weight). OK, fine, I'll admit it, I may have transferred the sheets into the dryer and then left for the evening without turning on the dryer. Coming home at 10:30 to soggy sheets and an unmade bed was not cool. After I finally drying my sheets and making the bed, my phone disappeared. I called and could hear it ring but couldn't see it anywhere. Not under the bed, not in my top drawer, not under the pillows, nowhere. Seven consecutive calls later I gave up and flopped down. Cue princess and the pea: I felt the phone jabbing me from underneath my fitted sheet. "Good job," I thought to myself. "Well done."
Talent. Pure talent.