Household Chores

Confession:  I like being “domestic.”  Hell, I don’t even mind doing the laundry or the dishes (though I prefer sewing and cooking–the mess makers, not the mess getter-ridders).  In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have to leave the house 40 hours a week and I would be able to do those things and the things I love to do even more.

Since I do not live in a perfect world, I find myself resenting the laundry and the dishes, even though they really aren’t that bad.  They may not keep me from sewing, practicing ASL, going out with my friends… But when they pile up they make me feel like crap for doing the things I love.

In our house, the chores are divided thusly:  I do the laundry, dishes, and basic cleaning.  If the house gets too out of hand, The Hippy helps organize the shit that’s piled up and some of the scrubbing and vacuuming and whatnot.  The “outside” chores are The Hippy’s domain.  Lawn mowing, raking, shoveling.

Somehow this just doesn’t seem fair, though.  I don’t think he had to mow more than a handful of times this year (and maybe he’d mow more often if we had a shed or garage so he didn’t have to go across town to get his lawn mower from his parents’).  He didn’t have to rake because it snowed before he got a chance and it doesn’t show signs of thawing any time soon.  It may be pretty snowy so far, but the hours spent shoveling still seem far fewer than the hours spent doing dishes and laundry and cooking and shopping.

I’m not really resentful or anything.  And I probably need to learn how to manage my time better and maybe spend less time watching stuff on Hulu.  I’m just feeling slightly frustrated.  Apparently I just need to ask for help and he’ll help me “but he can’t read my mind.”  But if I haven’t been home for a few days other than to sleep, do you really have to be a mind reader to wash up some of the dishes?  Just like if it’s snowing and you’re working until late, I don’t have to read your mind to think maybe I should shovel at least a little bit if I can….

Meh.  Whatevs.  I still prefer this to living with my parents (not that they’re bad people… and I probably don’t have to cover my ass, since most everyone in the world can understand this sentiment…).

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