I haven’t had a chance to write on here in a while. Why? Because I’m so exhausted everyday by the time I get a moment of freedom (if I even get that moment of freedom) that I can’t see straight. Nothing but incoherent static in my brain. My schedule has become condensed and frantic since I had to get the day job- and my endurance level hasn’t caught up with my activity level yet. No fun. Not fair. But what can ya do?
Part of that exhaustion comes from the role of “the maid” that I’ve somehow been thrust into. I didn’t notice it before when I worked solely from my house because the clean-up was spread out throughout the day, and much easier to handle. But now that I work all day, it’s really apparent to me just how fucking messy and lazy my guys are.
I will admit that my desk and drawing table are cluttered… but that is my personal space that doesn’t affect everyone in the house. And I can close the doors and hide it from the world. But Brad and Sully’s mess tears it’s way through the house on a daily basis, and stays in a state of destruction until I pick it up. It’s rude. And inconsiderate. And I’m fucking tired of it. And as much as I love my boys, it makes me want to take a hammer and slam it repeatedly into their faces. Let me site a few examples of what is going on right now in my house.
Example #1…. our bedroom.
Brad has opted to have his desk and computer in our bedroom (even though we have a spare bedroom that could be his office… why he doesn’t grab that is a total mystery to me). I don’t EVER touch Brad’s “stuff” because when he loses something, I’m the one who gets blamed for “moving it”. So long ago I solved that problem by just keeping a very “hands off” approach to everything that is his. This week, he began to notice my ever-growing stress level pertaining to the state of our bedroom. So last night he tried to “clean it”. This is what he considers “clean”:
When I open my eyes every morning, these messy piles of shit are what I see. This is what I start my day looking at. And where did the rest of the mountain of crap go that he “cleaned up”? That brings us to the “guest room”.
Example #2… the guest room.
I really liked the idea of having a guest room. We have so many friends that come in from out of town that it’s great to have a place for them to stay. But Brad has ruined the guest room. His closet is in there (because I claimed the bedroom closet as MINE). So about 2 months ago he started cleaning out his closet. This meant that he took the hundreds of articles of clothing that he no longer wears and threw them into the middle of the room. I left that mountainous pile there for a week or so… then it drove me batty. So I folded them all really nicely for him to box up or throw away. Where are they now? Let me show you:
OH! And all the stuff he “cleaned” out of our bedroom?… Look! It magically appeared in here, scattered aimlessly around the room. Fucking awesome. How in the holy hell is anyone going to be able to stay in that room when they’re visiting? UUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!
And lastly… our house’s entryway.
My boys have a habit of walking in the door and just throwing their stuff on the ground with the intentions of getting it later. If this was a backpack, or a wallet, or a jacket, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But instead, it’s huge musical equipment, or boxes that were shipped to us to planning to be shipped, or giant storage boxes that are filled with what appears to be trash collected from Brad’s car. The items in the photo below have all been sitting in those exact spots since the middle of December….
So in the morning I wake up to piles of crap that isn’t mine, and I come home from working all day to piles of crap that isn’t mine… but god forbid I touch any of it because then once either of the boys loses anything it HAS to be because I moved it.
And then there’s the ever breeding piles of mystery dishes that somehow get scattered all over the house. And the 12 billion pairs of Brad’s dirty socks that are balled up and EVERYWHERE. And crumbs always all over the counters even though I wipe them off every 10 minutes. And Sully’s art supplies and books that have invaded every inch of the house, even though I’m constantly telling him to pick them up…. etc etc etc. I could write a book about all the stuff that is a state of chaos, clutter, and shameful disarray in my home (but I’m already too embarrassed by how bad things are right now for any of you to know any more).
I’VE HAD IT!! I’VE HAD IT!! I’VE HAD IT!! I’VE HAD IT!! I’VE HAD IT!! FUCK YOU, BRAD AND SULLY!!! FUCK YOUR MESSES AND YOUR INABILITY TO FUNCTION AND CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF!!! I’M DONE- YOU HEAR ME? I’M FUCKING DONE!!!!!!!!!
Brad is home all day. There’s no excuse for this. Sully is capable of cleaning up after himself. There’s no excuse for this. And with me working all day AND trying to operate my business AND make art for gallery shows AND do all the grocery shopping and errand running and gardening- I really don’t have the time or patience anymore.
So here’s what I’m going to do… nothing. I am not going to lift one finger for a week except to clean up after myself. Sully knows how to do dishes and laundry. Brad is almost 12 years older than me, and perfectly capable of cleaning up after himself. So I’m going to just let it all go for 1 week starting today, and I want to see how long it takes them before THEY start to get uncomfortable in the chaos and want to know what happened to all the clean towels. I want them to wake the fuck up and experience what it would be like if I weren’t around to clean up after their lazy asses all day. Brad actually had the BALLS last week to refer to himself as “the maid”… and when those words came out of his mouth I had to close my eyes, stand very still, and breathe very slowly and deeply… because it’s the closest I’ve come in about a year to seriously punching him in the face.
Hopefully I’ll have a chance to babble more this week since I won’t been on full-time clean up duty. But next Thursday, I will be giving my report on how the boys handle their own pathetic filth… or if they even fucking notice.
If they don’t notice, and continue to take for granted the work I do around here, I’m moving out. And I’m taking the cats with me (they’re far cleaner than the boys will ever be… and much nicer to be around).