I deleted over a thousand emails yesterday.
The provider did not like it when I tried to delete more, they sat there staring at me. So it goes when I get the urge to purge the clutter. I can do only so much, and then life chimes in with these other important things I have to deal with, until I can’t deal with any more and I shut down. I can usually only maintain this level for one day and then I either don’t have the energy and motivation for extra crap.
I received just over 100 emails this morning.
Don’t get it wrong, I asked for them. I follow blogs, I follow comment threads. It just gets to be too much for me to process, so I haven’t deleted anything in a while.
I had a really hard time accepting that I had made so much progress and then the thing stopped working at deleting the messages I’d already dealt with. Everyone who knows what to do tells me what to do: Garden. I love my garden, but I hate all you people who can garden better than me, and even worse, people who tell me how to garden.
It’s a metaphor for pulling out the weeds in life, I get it. Pull the clutter when you notice it before it chokes the life out of life. But fuck you for telling me what I already know and wish I was able to do. Just like those sons of bitches telling me to “just” find another job that pays more, it’s not as fucking easy as you’re making it sound. It’s the same problem, gardening the job. I can’t just fucking quit this one because the bills keep coming and I’m already barely keeping my head above water and the ass hole politicians want to give me a “raise” that’ll drop me back to poverty level. FUCKERS!!
I can’t keep up, because I reach a point like yesterday when I am not able to pull any more weeds. I have to do it like a hurricane, dumping my potential energy like wind and rain, all at once, while I have the energy, and then resting and celebrating the calm when I’m done. I look back at my clean kitchen or my freshly vacuumed carpet or whatever, it looks great and I have a little tiny celebration in my head.
Then I try not to be discouraged when the kids tromp through bringing popcorn into the TV area and leaving their dirty dishes everywhere, including in the kitchen sink. I can’t say this to them, but FUCK!! (There! Today I got there, couldn’t get there yesterday.) Maybe my ability to give a fuck depends on the scope of the project. For the world, too big to give a fuck. For the house and my own family, I can get there.
I just wish life weren’t such an uphill battle all the fucking time.
But I’m clicking delete again today. Maybe I’ll delete another thousand. Maybe I can clean one section of the house and keep it that way. I love my kids and my wife, but if I didn’t, they’d be homeless until they consent to clean up after themselves and participate in regular chores.
I replace the rolls of paper in the bathroom. Every time. They couldn’t be arsed. (I couldn’t resist). They yell at me from their throne when I don’t, because they sat without fixing it or checking it was empty from the last time one of them reigned from on high.
I get to wash the dishes, unless Mrs M decides to play the martyr, “(Sigh,) I cooked the dinner and now I have to wash the dishes too, (SIGH, SIGH)” as she’s aware the children won’t. I left the dishes in the sink this morning because I ran out of time before I ran out the door to work. (sigh).
Which reminds me I have to check the lint trap on the dryer so my family doesn’t burn the house down.
I wish I could just click a delete button on these tasks, or a move to other folder button, and put them in the kids’. Sadly the kids weren’t equipped with remote controllers. Neither was the wife( or OMG that would be SO MUCH FUN). No, I’m the only one who seems to have a remote, that works on voice command, when I have the energy.
The on switch is “Sigh.” The off switch is “I’m going to bed.”
“I’m going to bed.”