(no subject)
So I figured it out.
During recent months, I've become, shall we say domestic. Oh, let's be honest, I've been a feminist's nightmare. Okay, well, not an actual feminist's nightmare, but the 13 year old me would kick the 21 year old me's ass (I once thought that cleaning and mothering was gross and demeaning, I now understand that it's a part of life and necessary for the survival of the human race). What this means is I have been a) accepting others' domestic responsibilities as my own and b) taking a sort of pleasure in crafts and tidiness. Anyone who has known me for any period of time has seen my personal living space go from random and chaotic, to organized piles, to a place for everything, to finally labled boxes within boxes updated bi-weekly to keep with incoming stuff/info. Icky.
Why? you might ask. I shall tell you. Because no one else will. Easy as that. I was lucky enough to have anal retentives living with me in the apartment ( the good kind) who made sure that my life wasn't enveloped by filth and chaos. Upon moving, I've discovered that the clean and organized lifestyle is necessary of my sanity and apparently no one elses. This means that no one I live with minds disease and squalor. I tested this theory recently, by cleaning only my own messes and deftly ignoring the messes of others, pushing the limits of sanitation in order to elicit a reaction. The result: Nothing happened and the place got filthier by the second until the meer thought of venturing into the living room or kitchen made me throw up a little in my mouth. I ended up cleaning two days worth of trash and dishes (it took me 3 f'ing hours!) and coming to accept the responsibility as my own. Living with slobs has forced me to grow up, the downside being total exhaustion and the plus side being access to MotherGuilt. I like guilt; It's useful.
Morals:
I like cleaning. It makes me feel important.
Candy and Emily, I'm so sorry. I appreciate you.
During recent months, I've become, shall we say domestic. Oh, let's be honest, I've been a feminist's nightmare. Okay, well, not an actual feminist's nightmare, but the 13 year old me would kick the 21 year old me's ass (I once thought that cleaning and mothering was gross and demeaning, I now understand that it's a part of life and necessary for the survival of the human race). What this means is I have been a) accepting others' domestic responsibilities as my own and b) taking a sort of pleasure in crafts and tidiness. Anyone who has known me for any period of time has seen my personal living space go from random and chaotic, to organized piles, to a place for everything, to finally labled boxes within boxes updated bi-weekly to keep with incoming stuff/info. Icky.
Why? you might ask. I shall tell you. Because no one else will. Easy as that. I was lucky enough to have anal retentives living with me in the apartment ( the good kind) who made sure that my life wasn't enveloped by filth and chaos. Upon moving, I've discovered that the clean and organized lifestyle is necessary of my sanity and apparently no one elses. This means that no one I live with minds disease and squalor. I tested this theory recently, by cleaning only my own messes and deftly ignoring the messes of others, pushing the limits of sanitation in order to elicit a reaction. The result: Nothing happened and the place got filthier by the second until the meer thought of venturing into the living room or kitchen made me throw up a little in my mouth. I ended up cleaning two days worth of trash and dishes (it took me 3 f'ing hours!) and coming to accept the responsibility as my own. Living with slobs has forced me to grow up, the downside being total exhaustion and the plus side being access to MotherGuilt. I like guilt; It's useful.
Morals:
I like cleaning. It makes me feel important.
Candy and Emily, I'm so sorry. I appreciate you.