I'm not really sure what I'm feeling right now. I'm not trying to be melancholy or dreadful, or even a bit, hm, dramatic. I'm angry for some reason, with the dishes not being done not entirely covering the emotion. It was annoying. Is annoying. I found myself looking at the dishes, piled up, thinking about how there is no other person intended to wash them but me, since I would be home. Or at least, that's how I interpreted it as. Yes, he does the dishes. I'm not denying he does them. Today, however, is another day with me at home and him at work, with no one else to do the dishes that are in the sink. It is almost an implied chore for me to get done some time today. After that big sigh in seeing the kitchen in the state that it was and then proceeding to walk into the bathroom with it looking the way it did, I couldn't just stand behind the bathroom door shut out by how I was feeling. I was thinking to myself, standing there in that mess of towels and dirty clothes, that this is not how my husband is going to treat the place we share. Because we are newly married, I knew I had to say something in this moment now and not in the moments past. Opening the door to the bathroom again, holding in my morning pee a little bit longer to say, "Hey, you leave me with all the dishes in the sink to do, and to also pick up the dirty clothes you threw on the floor yesterday?", felt good.
Maybe it was too harsh for me to say, especially with him not knowing what I was feeling that led me to ask him such an abrupt question. He did put down his breakfast. He did say, "Oh, yeah sorry, I put them there when I took a shower last night. I forgot to pick them up." He did try and hang the towels that were still a bit damp to dry before putting them in the hamper. He did pick up the clothes. I took my morning pee afterwards. Sitting on the toilet, still thinking about the several mini events that transpired in my mind, I realized it wasn't enough for me. I don't know why. Was I wanting a longer conversation, and his mere acts of "tidying up", were not fulfillment of what I truly wanted? No, it's not as deep as that. I won't say I wanted to fight, because honestly I didn't. Maybe I just wanted some indication that he understood why I might be upset over something as "small" as dirty clothes on the floor. Anyway... I finished up in the bathroom and again was met by the dishes in the sink. Those dirty bastards.
The cutting board. Why would you put the cutting board that way? The direction that you have it in the sink takes up the entire empty space that is the other half of the sink. How are you supposed to comfortably wash the dishes when the stupid, bulky, fucking cutting board, is laying that way? If taking up space is all you want to accomplish, you've done a fine job in proceeding to then stack more dishes on top of said, stupid, bulky, fucking cutting board that then makes a towering mess on top of it. So, even if you wanted to get the cutting board out of the way first, you couldn't. You have to either move all the dirty dishes you've piled up on it to the other side of the sink first, and then wash the cutting board, OR, wash the dirty dishes on top of the cutting board with very limited space, again, taken up by said, stupid, bulky, fucking cutting board and then finally get to it. I couldn't contain myself, "Baby, put the cutting board the other way so it isn't in the way when you're washing. It doesn't make sense to have it that way.". A stare, "Okay.".
Before he left for work, he told me he would wash the cutting board and the pans he used to make dinner last night when he gets back. I'm not washing a damn thing. I'm not sure why not. I just am not going to. Is this resentment that I'm feeling? That he is outside with purpose, and I'm stuck in the apartment with not having much to do? Am I now truly feeling the sting of quarantine and the staleness of it? The pressure to do more? To create? When he is able to clock in eight hours, and come home and soak up the divinity that is coming home after a hard days work? Maybe it isn't that. A part of me, in the morning when he's leaving, cannot wait to have the space to myself. I need alone time; crave it. But once he's gone and the luster of masturbating, doing some brief yoga, and completing my skincare routine is over, I feel very lonely. Once the loneliness kicks in... I feel quiet. After a few hard sighs, spaced in between my thoughts, I just want to lay down in bed.
My moments of waxing and waning eventually pass. I get out of bed and put on some Snoh Alegra and meet my day. I wonder which movie series I'll start now. Tea for breakfast.
Maybe it was too harsh for me to say, especially with him not knowing what I was feeling that led me to ask him such an abrupt question. He did put down his breakfast. He did say, "Oh, yeah sorry, I put them there when I took a shower last night. I forgot to pick them up." He did try and hang the towels that were still a bit damp to dry before putting them in the hamper. He did pick up the clothes. I took my morning pee afterwards. Sitting on the toilet, still thinking about the several mini events that transpired in my mind, I realized it wasn't enough for me. I don't know why. Was I wanting a longer conversation, and his mere acts of "tidying up", were not fulfillment of what I truly wanted? No, it's not as deep as that. I won't say I wanted to fight, because honestly I didn't. Maybe I just wanted some indication that he understood why I might be upset over something as "small" as dirty clothes on the floor. Anyway... I finished up in the bathroom and again was met by the dishes in the sink. Those dirty bastards.
The cutting board. Why would you put the cutting board that way? The direction that you have it in the sink takes up the entire empty space that is the other half of the sink. How are you supposed to comfortably wash the dishes when the stupid, bulky, fucking cutting board, is laying that way? If taking up space is all you want to accomplish, you've done a fine job in proceeding to then stack more dishes on top of said, stupid, bulky, fucking cutting board that then makes a towering mess on top of it. So, even if you wanted to get the cutting board out of the way first, you couldn't. You have to either move all the dirty dishes you've piled up on it to the other side of the sink first, and then wash the cutting board, OR, wash the dirty dishes on top of the cutting board with very limited space, again, taken up by said, stupid, bulky, fucking cutting board and then finally get to it. I couldn't contain myself, "Baby, put the cutting board the other way so it isn't in the way when you're washing. It doesn't make sense to have it that way.". A stare, "Okay.".
Before he left for work, he told me he would wash the cutting board and the pans he used to make dinner last night when he gets back. I'm not washing a damn thing. I'm not sure why not. I just am not going to. Is this resentment that I'm feeling? That he is outside with purpose, and I'm stuck in the apartment with not having much to do? Am I now truly feeling the sting of quarantine and the staleness of it? The pressure to do more? To create? When he is able to clock in eight hours, and come home and soak up the divinity that is coming home after a hard days work? Maybe it isn't that. A part of me, in the morning when he's leaving, cannot wait to have the space to myself. I need alone time; crave it. But once he's gone and the luster of masturbating, doing some brief yoga, and completing my skincare routine is over, I feel very lonely. Once the loneliness kicks in... I feel quiet. After a few hard sighs, spaced in between my thoughts, I just want to lay down in bed.
My moments of waxing and waning eventually pass. I get out of bed and put on some Snoh Alegra and meet my day. I wonder which movie series I'll start now. Tea for breakfast.
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