I've been doing laundry for the last two days.
Wash. Dry. Sun. Fold. Hang. Put away. Sort. And repeat.
I have socks stuffed into random cervices. The carseat box that I haven't taken to the basement, has become a perfect place to hide socks. Same for the changing table, and my yarn basket. Oh and the basket that holds the phone chargers...
In case you can't tell, matching socks is not my favorite activity. In fact, I liken it to putting a incomplete puzzle together. It's just not satisfying because you can never finish it.
Doing laundry is like washing dishes. You are never really finished.