This is the argument I find myself having lately. With myself.
Me: Goddamnmothereffing dishes are TAKING OVER the kitchen. Why doesn’t anyone wash them around here?
Myself: Maybe you should ask Husband to wash the dishes for once.
Me: I could… But he’s been at work all day. He doesn’t want to wash the dishes after fixing sick people for 12 hours.
Myself: True. But you worked all day, too. Plus, you washed the dishes last night and the night before AND unloaded the dishwasher today.
Me: But… The Guilt… He’s a DOCTOR. That’s WAAAAAY more important than what you do.
Myself: Don’t do that. Don’t trivialize what you do. He’s your husband. Ask him to help you.
Me: Okay fine.
* After Husband has agreed to do the dishes, yet is still in the office playing music and checking sports scores. *
Myself: What the hell is he DOING in there? It’s LATE. The dishes still aren’t done.
Me: He’s allowed to unwind. He’s been in the hospital all day. He gets very little time to himself.
Myself: I know, I know. But for god’s sake… why can’t he do the dishes first and THEN unwind?
Me: Maybe you should just do the dishes.
Myself: I’m probably going to have to.
* After Husband does the dishes. *
Me: What a sweetheart! Thank you Husband! What a big help.
Myself: But he didn’t wipe down the counters.
Me: That’s okay. You can do that – it takes a few seconds at most.
Myself: I KNOW. But IF IT ONLY TAKES A FEW SECONDS WHY DIDN’T HE DO IT?
Me: You can stop yelling.
Myself: Our marriage is a PARTNERSHIP. He should pull his weight around here.
Me: He does pull his weight. Remember? HE WENT TO MEDICAL SCHOOL FOR FOUR YEARS so he can support you in the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.
Myself: Oh The Guilt…
Me: Go kiss him. And then wipe down the counters.
***
Life is made up of series. Monday turns into Tuesday turns into Wednesday and on and on. And then repeat. You get up you shower you work you eat you sleep you get up. You get frustrated you cry you feel fine you get frustrated. You fight you make up.
Sometimes these routines are comforting. I love the normalcy. The control. The knowledge that this pain, this joy, this boredom will pass – and that it will repeat again. This underlying symmetry makes life beautiful and knowable even when it’s ugly and incomprehensible.
But sometimes the repetition makes my head explode.
Apathy. Enjoyment. Head exploding. Apathy.
Just another cycle, I suppose.
***
Two of my favorite parts of the day are when I say goodbye to Husband in the morning, and when I welcome him home at night.
* Morning *
Husband: I’m going to work. I love you.
Me: I love you. Drive safely.
Husband: I’ll do my best.
Me: I love you.
Husband: I love you.
* Night *
Husband: I’m coming home. I love you.
Me: I love you. Drive safely.
Husband: I’ll do my best.
Me: I love you.
Husband: I love you.