She scrapes the charred crumbs from her morning toast, then she does laundry.She does ironing, then she strums a chord on her guitar, commiserating with herself, as the taut metal strings slice pain into her tender fingertips.She does more laundry, then she spatter-paints with Pollockesque abandon.Which inevitably generates more dirty clothes.She has a shower, luxuriating in the incalescence of the…