I think I once read that the unexamined life isn’t worth living. I also read that ignorance is bliss. Not writing helps me remain blissful. If I don’t write, I don’t think, and if I don’t think, maybe I can ignore the burgeoning unhappiness that seems right around every corner of my mind.
I am impatient, lately, about little things. Most of those little things are little things done by my husband. For example, he came home today, and I was so irritated – at nothing, that I didn’t kiss him. Well, no, it’s not because I was irritated. I was busy and irritated at the busyness and also at how I felt he wasn’t helping with the reason behind the busyness.
We moved into our house in March….of 2014. You wouldn’t know it, though. The den has become a catch-all (partly because we can’t put anything in the office with the over-stayed her welcome friend and mainly because when do I have time to unpack a box when my 9-5 keeps me so busy when do I even get time to breathe?). One of those caught items was a TV my husband wanted for his birthday in August of last year. Not a new TV – nope. A TV that my in-laws owned but were looking to get rid of once the picture tube went out. “I can fix it. All it needs is a video card.” Famous last words. My husband is not handy, but he seems to feel he is able do more than he really can. I feel like an un-edifying bitch when I try to persuade him otherwise, so I went ahead and spent the $50 on the video card he swore he could install.
Right now? The TV is in the backyard, because no matter what he did, what video he watched, what technique he tried, the television set wouldn’t work. It made me so angry. I TOLD you this wouldn’t work, and this was $50 wasted, and I could’ve gotten you something you actually were able to enjoy, and I TOLD YOU TO GIVE THIS SHIT UP – YOU ARE NOT HANDY.
So, we po’ white trash, only black, because the TV is in our backyard. A yard with a cracked patio and a crumbling brick retainer wall that separates the concrete from the grass. A backyard with a fallen over tree, piles of wood, and some other mangled trash, because somehow the trip to the dump or the putting-out for bulk trash collection never happens. A backyard now with her broken-down kennel she left out in the rain, a random bucket, and some large, long cardboard box stacked on the patio. And my irritation at the yard is a carry-over from my irritation at the house. Stop dumping your shit everywhere!
I will admit: I will not always put things where they belong. But I think the Hubs takes this to the next level. So my irritation at him finally came out when I said, “Can we not let the junkyness spill over from the house into the backyard?” This was shortly after I asked him to schedule a date and put it on the calendar to load that crap up and get it to the dump.
So, this is why I didn’t kiss my husband. I’m irritated, because I hate that my house doesn’t feel like a home, more like a random assortment of furniture shoved into place and knick-knacks strewn about. I clean one room, and he comes behind and dirties it. The laundry room was fairly neat. All that was on top of the dryer was an empty basket awaiting clean or dirty clothes. I went it to start a load, and perched atop the dryer now stood a tube of Clorox wipes and a can of laundry starch. WHEN THERE’S A SHELF FOR THAT CRAP NOT ONE FOOT TO THE RIGHT.
I’m so tired. Cleaning is not how I want to spend my entire vacation. And I feel like I’m the only one who cares. I know he cares. I know he wants a clean house. And he’s appreciative when I clean/straighten/nicen [new word] things up.
But I don’t like doing it alone.