Awful, awful, awful.
And while you’re at it – AWFUL!
This guy is almost too much to bear.
Joe seemed to be in a cheerier mood and called me several times on the phone while I was at work, with various pieces of news. He then proclaimed that he was going to tidy the house and tackle the washing. I was thrilled with this because ever since he moved in there have been piles and piles and piles of clothes everywhere. The place is a f**king pigsty. Now because of all the drama we had been going through – I decided not to ask him to fix it – figuring he’d get there eventually.
So yesterday afternoon he called me about 4 times asking various washing-related questions, I had a feeling that I would walk into a bigger mess than I left.
And I was right.
There were mountains of clothes all over the house, my stuff mixed in with his in various stages of clean, dirty, dry and wet. Sheets were slung over fans, my good doona was on the floor with a load of his clothes piled on top of it – supposedly ‘airing’; it was a disaster zone. But I held it together. I sat down with a glass of wine (natch!) and we discussed our days. Things were good. Half way down the glass Joe proclaimed that we now BOTH needed to go up to the sixth floor washing room to deal with the two or more loads still up there. I was not thrilled at this, because all I wanted to do was shower, change and cook dinner as I hadn’t eaten for six hours and I was hungry. I didn’t say anything though.
So without a shower, I pulled on some pants and a singlet and we marched up to the washing room where items had to be sorted and washed and dried. We hauled a lot of wet stuff back down to my place and I set about cleaning things the f*ck up. I mean, I have several washing baskets and there is no need for stuff to be strewn everywhere, no matter if it’s clean or dirty.
I started to hang up my clothes in an orderly fashion, calmly, coolly and tidily as I always do. I am still in a relatively good mood at this point despite being irritated that I now had mountains of work to tackle just to make my place neat and livable again when I had worked a 9 hour day and it was absolutely pouring with rain outside and I was tired and hungry. Joe walks into the room and starts chatting to me while I hung up my clothes he says something to me and I turn to face him and the entire neatly stacked clothes horse comes tumbling down and whacks me on the foot, knocking all the clothes to the floor. This was a moment of extreme exasperation for me and rather than rush to help or offer sympathy the first words out of Joe’s mouth (albeit jokingly) were, “See you need to think about engineering principles and that wouldn’t have happened!” he sounded positively gleeful that I had just been put through a small amount of pain.
Well I shot back, “If you weren’t distracting me, I would have been applying those engineering principles better!” Which I felt to be true. I thought that he had just said to me (in so many words) ‘you don’t know what you’re doing’ and I felt as if I had to defend myself. And in all truth, he was distracting me and I had hung items all over the delicate frame rather than starting at the back as I normally do.
Anyway, not to labour the point, but I am really trying to defrag this fight and asses it because OH LORD it got worse. Joe leaves the room after telling me not to be so narky, I take that on the chin and recommence hanging up my washing. Once that was done, I start to tackle the massive piles of clothes surrounding the space, sorting and moving the piles into laundry baskets and large bags so at least they are not all over the floor, the couch and the desk. I pile all the bags and baskets neatly in one corner, so the room is now looking almost presentable. Joe goes back upstairs to get the last load of washing from the dryer.
He returns and asks what he should do with the bag of clothes he is carrying. “Just put it over there on the floor,” I say, meaning put the bag with the other bags. Joe misunderstands this and empties the bag of washing – you guessed it – on the fucking floor. Internally I scream. Then I say no not on the floor! In the bag on the floor! and Joe gets upset and then I get upset and then as if on queue the neatly stacked clothes horse tumbles yet again to the floor as well. It was like a comedy sketch, except no one was laughing.
“That’s not my fault!” Joe says to me. This is when my patience really began to run out. I probably said something like, “Why ion the hell are we tackling all of this right now!? This is not what I normally want to do on a Monday night when I’m really tired.” And there in the fight began. Joe was thinking that I was being really narky – and my GOD with all of that – who can blame me? All I wanted to do was relax. And not only the washing, but the furniture in the front room had been pushed to the side as Joe wanted to vacuum the carpet and the dishes in the kitchen had still not been done. All in all – every single space was in disarray and I was so incredibly frustrated and tired with the whole thing.
And now, to add to that, I had another fight on my hands.
I am not blaming Joe for not ‘doing housework’ and I certainly don’t expect him to ‘have the place spick and span’ as he accused me of. I just think that he could have timed the whole operation better and not started a whole bunch of cleaning projects that he couldn’t finish. Granted he probably didn’t think about how I would feel when I got home from work on a rainy, rainy Monday evening – to find my house looking like a warzone. He’s just not great with timing sometimes and he over estimates what he can do in a certain amount of time. I guess he was trying to help – but it ended up being the furthest thing from help – and that’s the irony of the situation.
Words like narky and bitch were being flung around. Joe was upset that I would dare try to insist that he should be some sort of hairy housemaid for me. Of course I don’t expect that. In all honesty I am happy to do all the housework, and so long as he keeps his stuff in reasonable order we should be fine. It’s a very small space and unlike me living at his house, there really is no escape valve with both of us crammed into my little apartment. At Joe’s house I have all my junk crammed into 2 little drawers and really, I do try to keep my stuff neat.
Finally at 7pm Joe had done all the dishes and vacuumed my carpet. I had fetched, folded, sorted and hung all the clothes I could manage so I began to make us dinner. We were in a cheerier mood – but I was upset that Joe was still blaming me for ‘going off at him’ and ‘not admitting that it was my fault’. I just can’t believe that he really doesn’t seem to realise that it takes two to tango and we were both setting each other off in a situation which (let’s face it) he yet again created. So maybe I’m just as bad as him – unwilling to take the blame.
OK fine. I’ll take it. The whole situation was caused by me being a narky bitch. But do you blame me Diary? We only have so much energy in a day and I had precious little energy to give at the end of mine.
We made up sufficiently to make love.
Photo thanks to David Salafia