I am a little angry. I came to this realization this morning as I shut the front door behind me (very firmly) and stomped (or maybe trudged viciously…it can be hard to tell the difference) down the street on a self imposed walk to High Park to burn off some fury.
I didn’t stop muttering (things like “furthermore” and “another thing” under my breath until I had speed walked 20 minutes. )
I was too angry to knit, and that’s saying something, especially since I’m back at the Tinks sweaters…and if itty bitty fair isle can’t get your mind off your whimsical temper, what can?
When I calmed myself down a bit, I made a list. I am a big fan of lists and find them clarifying and emotionally gratifying. There’s something about the numbering and naming of your problems that both makes them real enough to deal with, and simultaneously reassures you that they don’t number in the thousands.
(We can discuss another time the absolutely tragic fact that I’m making all the same complaints my mother did, which speaks to a poignant lack of progress.)
List of reasons I was mad enough to spit. (but didn’t. That’s gross.)
Laundry, my relationship to it, and the absolutely unending, perennial nature of same. (Also, the way no matter what you have washed, you have not washed the right things. Eg: I have washed every single pair of pants, but there are inexplicably, no towels.)
Housework. See above complaint and factor in the apparent learning disability everyone in the house seems to have when I use the phrase “We all mess it up, we all clean it up.” You should see their eyes glaze over. They might do what I ask then, but their teenaged brains seem to be completely unable to take that message to the next level and do it again the next time they see some dirt without the application of speech 3b. (“This is not a hotel and I do not work here. I live here. Like you do, only with less help.”)
The injustice of the world at large. I realize there is precious little people can do about this in the immediate future (like the next 14 seconds) but I am pissed none the less.
Cats. Specifically mine, and the way that she has taken to sleeping on my head. Sadly, I have not taken to her sleeping on my head, and each and every night has turned into a repeated and monotonous cycle of me taking her off my head, me falling asleep, her getting on my head, me waking up and taking her off my head.
Repeat until you threaten to smack your insensitive lout of a husband for daring to find a shred of humour in your sleepless plight and ability to string together filthy expletives related to aforementioned *&^%$!!!! cat.
Cat seen here looking innocent. She is not. (Suggestions for ending this problem before I die from sleep deprivation gleefully accepted. I love my cat, but I am not interested in taking her crap as long as I pay for her kibble.)
Work. This is really the big one. For various reasons, Children, holidays, husbands, houseguests, family, school boards and so forth….I have not had a single day of uninterrupted work in 21 days.
What would happen if you didn’t go to work for 21 days? Can you imagine? My inbox is overwhelmed, things unwritten, phone calls unreturned….a plethora of problems screech into my lap every day and I am helpless to correct them because there are PEOPLE IN MY OFFICE. People with goals that are different from mine. People who want their blue pants, to have help with a problem of their own, want a meal, want a conversation, want to sleep on my head or talk while I write. People who will actually stack orange peels on the living room coffee table and then stand there and have a screeching argument about who it was who left them there and who should pick them up. (Hint: If, even while you are screaming about the injustice of the world, even if you claim that your sisters are treated better than you, if you swear that you have never, ever even touched a single orange in this house….Even if you have made all of those points? I am still going to think you should pick up the orange peels if your breath of fury reeks of guilty Citrus.)
21 days. That’s why, when one of the girls told me this morning that they were too ill to go to school (again) I went for a long walk…and realized this:
I would like to formally and publicly apologize to my mother for not fully grasping the injustice of her life during my growing up years, and take back all of the stuff I muttered about her sanity all those times she was out for a walk. Sorry Mum.