The drudgery. I'm over the flipping drudgery. I feel like I'm back in the time of preschoolers again, only this time with people who are perfectly capable of doing the dishes and without complaint, only they won't and don't.
Look, it's nobody's fault that it's come to pass (again) that I'm the one with the least formal, formalised purpose or occupation. And there's no one who's not pulling their weight (well, there is one). But here I am, scrubbing the bath again.
Partly it's because there is so much more 'housework' to do now that everyone is home all the time. Apart from anything else there's the amount of work that goes into keeping everyone fed...I had no idea how much time was saved in my life by people having lunch at work or school. And because dinner is one of the few focal points of the day I do like it to be a bit nice, a bit not the same as the day before and the day before. Partly it's because I'm spending so much more time inside and I'm noticing it all. Partly it's because we've got everything squeezed into a tiny space so it all feels much more out of control and chaotic than it was, but I'm the only one who really cares about the sense of chaos. And partly I'm sure it's because the gender divide is always there, waiting to be excavated.
I really do need to find my rhythm, to get into a project that gives me a sense of purpose. I'll feel far less resentful about walking around picking up dishes if I feel like I'm also doing something that goes a bit more grunt behind it.
On another note, my fingernails are extraordinarily strong, and have all grown long in a uniform way. They haven't been like this for years. There is, however, a confounding variable because I've also been filing them with an emery board which I had stopped doing. So maybe that's stopping them from getting snagged on things and snapping.
On another another note, it's rubbish having to tell teenagers they can't go out.
The End. Or is it?
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