Today, to the soundtrack of a This American Life rerun, I resigned myself.
It was a decision, not just an acceptance, but I can't say it was easy, that it didn't come without protest.
I resigned myself to cleaning Kevin's mess.
It's like this: Kevin is my boyfriend. We live together. We cook together. I clean things up, and ask him to clean things to but he has this thing I call a "clothing collection." I point it out to friends and family when I give a grand tour.
"Here's the bathroom, there are my shampoos and conditioners, here is my exotic oils set.. here is the bedroom: bed, dresser, book shelves... oh that? That's Kevin's collection of clothing. He doesn't have it on display yet. He stores it in here until he has the time to put it together. I know, it's pretty expansive. One day he hopes to get a full collection of clothes. Can't wait."
Kevin's clothing collection is a pile of crumpled shirts, socks, pants, broken shoes, digested into newspapers, spiral notebooks, family pictures and letters, cigarette filters, as well as his collection of plastic bags. As well as clothes Kevin collects rubber bands and receipts. It's all in there.
Today I cleaned it up.
I folded the clothes and put them in the dresser, empty if not for Maxim magazines and even more bits of paper and cigarette filters. I took all the papers and put them in a bag. I hung sweatshirts and coats in the hallway clothes. I swept.
And this time I didn't get mad. Because usually, I get mad.
I cuss. To no one. I just cuss.
I did the dishes. I cleaned all the breakfast dishes. I cleaned the dishes from last night. I always do the dishes. Everyday I hand wash every dish.
I vacuumed. I vacuumed the trails from door to couch. And I put the remote controls together, organized the video box which Kevin rifles through, I put the videos collecting around the television neatly into the box. I dusted.
And I usually get upset. I shouldn't have to do this all the time. Kevin should be doing this.
And this is when I made the decision to resign myself.
I resigned myself to all these menial, unappreciated tasks. I said, "Okay. I will do these things. I will take them on. They are my tasks. They are my chores even if I only committed to the joy of making these messes fifty-percent. I will do them. I will be happy."
Resigning to the task in a way the 1950's housewife resigns to them. The man pays the bills, the woman keeps the house. Of course this wasn't an easy pill to swallow. More of a horse sized suppository than an easily chewable Flinstone's vitamin. Taking it wasn't to the relief of indigestion, it was straight up constipation.
*sigh*
So. As I do the dishes. As I listen to This American Life. As I forgo any personal task of enjoyment I might with the thought of the house maintaining itself on it's own, I sigh. I sigh and smile and drink a glass of wine. A smile and take a shot of tequila. And then another one. And then I am smiling wide and drunk, realizing there is no where I have to go tomorrow. I smile the perfect white Crest commercial smile with the frame of perfectly applied red lipstick, the smile of housewife at work.
It was a decision, not just an acceptance, but I can't say it was easy, that it didn't come without protest.
I resigned myself to cleaning Kevin's mess.
It's like this: Kevin is my boyfriend. We live together. We cook together. I clean things up, and ask him to clean things to but he has this thing I call a "clothing collection." I point it out to friends and family when I give a grand tour.
"Here's the bathroom, there are my shampoos and conditioners, here is my exotic oils set.. here is the bedroom: bed, dresser, book shelves... oh that? That's Kevin's collection of clothing. He doesn't have it on display yet. He stores it in here until he has the time to put it together. I know, it's pretty expansive. One day he hopes to get a full collection of clothes. Can't wait."
Kevin's clothing collection is a pile of crumpled shirts, socks, pants, broken shoes, digested into newspapers, spiral notebooks, family pictures and letters, cigarette filters, as well as his collection of plastic bags. As well as clothes Kevin collects rubber bands and receipts. It's all in there.
Today I cleaned it up.
I folded the clothes and put them in the dresser, empty if not for Maxim magazines and even more bits of paper and cigarette filters. I took all the papers and put them in a bag. I hung sweatshirts and coats in the hallway clothes. I swept.
And this time I didn't get mad. Because usually, I get mad.
I cuss. To no one. I just cuss.
I did the dishes. I cleaned all the breakfast dishes. I cleaned the dishes from last night. I always do the dishes. Everyday I hand wash every dish.
I vacuumed. I vacuumed the trails from door to couch. And I put the remote controls together, organized the video box which Kevin rifles through, I put the videos collecting around the television neatly into the box. I dusted.
And I usually get upset. I shouldn't have to do this all the time. Kevin should be doing this.
And this is when I made the decision to resign myself.
I resigned myself to all these menial, unappreciated tasks. I said, "Okay. I will do these things. I will take them on. They are my tasks. They are my chores even if I only committed to the joy of making these messes fifty-percent. I will do them. I will be happy."
Resigning to the task in a way the 1950's housewife resigns to them. The man pays the bills, the woman keeps the house. Of course this wasn't an easy pill to swallow. More of a horse sized suppository than an easily chewable Flinstone's vitamin. Taking it wasn't to the relief of indigestion, it was straight up constipation.
*sigh*
So. As I do the dishes. As I listen to This American Life. As I forgo any personal task of enjoyment I might with the thought of the house maintaining itself on it's own, I sigh. I sigh and smile and drink a glass of wine. A smile and take a shot of tequila. And then another one. And then I am smiling wide and drunk, realizing there is no where I have to go tomorrow. I smile the perfect white Crest commercial smile with the frame of perfectly applied red lipstick, the smile of housewife at work.
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