does the ego ever die down? with age, does the 2year-old mentality of being the actual centre of the universe get grown past? and, at the heart of today's tirade, will they ever notice a slight double-standard in the my-life-should-be-whatever-I-feel-called-to-and- find-fulfilling-and-asserting-to-my-god-given-place-as-a-man; and your-life-should-be-exactly-what-it-is? Cause, really, what more would you want in life than to clean my underwear and my house and my kids and the million other tasks that consume the best of your time and energy.
Okay, so I'm stuffing laundry (about 3 loads worth) into a basket. Laundry and me, we aren't really on speaking terms anymore. I ignore it whenever possible and shove it into whatever machine is available when it becomes absolutely necessary. I then proceed to dump it into whatever laundry receptacle (aka,chair) is available. When necessary I go downstairs and retrieve a desperately needed article. This is what laundry has degenerated to for me. I've tried the one day a week and found you can't actually do 12 loads of laundry in one day, unless you're at a laundromat. I've tried one load a day and come to the conclusion we must have somewhat more than 7 loads of laundry in a week. Don't even think of asking me why we have so much - I swear I will kill you. So as I'm stuffing this basket vowing I will not return for anything that doesn't fit in, my husband; who, incidentally, was left home for 2 hours, while I took the kiddies out, to paint the damn room in the basement that has been in renovations for almost an entire year (oh how I wish I could e-scream), returns from Cdn Tire and this and that, talking about something to do with a really good visit yada, yada, yada (truthfully, I'm not paying much attention, or maybe my rage has simply fogged out the memory of it)and he asks me "is something wrong?" Now, keep in mind, I am not mad at him at all at this point. But I am frustrated because the necessary chores of this life never end, and I say "yeah, I'm tired and my head hurts, and I haven't stopped sweating all day, and sometimes I wonder what's the point of decorating the house and planting gardens or any of the finer things of life when all there seems to be is laundry and putting away, and picking up, and feeding, and cleaning - all amidst the almost continual demands for attention from the other house inhabitants. Since when is this life? So what does my husband say as I'm trudging downstairs with my triple load of laundry? He says, and I am quoting, "I don't see what else there should be." It seems like such a small statement, but it fills my heart with rage. You don't see what else there should be.... for whom? For you? Because it doesn't seem to me that your life resembles this picture very much. So, logically, you must mean (or else are foundationally insensitive) that you don't see what else life should be... for me. yeah. this is where the screaming is happening in my head and the keys are crying out from the beating of my acrylic nails ( i got them done, I really like them, too).
I don't know what else to say, or do for that matter. As the anger ebbs I feel hurt down to my core. Why does it seem that we (I'm thinking the women, here, but maybe it's a gender-neutral thing) keep allowing ourselves to trust this person, let ourselves begin to believe that they do know us and appreciate the whole package of who we are (this feeling of being known is so fundamental to a woman - it's the basis of intimacy) only to have it all smacked down with one careless slap of presumption.
