I shaved today. It’s not a monumental task, so raise no monuments to commemorate. However, it was done. I hate shaving, I almost always nick myself. Don’t laugh, I have baby soft skin! Then I went to work, and in a momentary distraction from the tasks at hand, I’ve realized there are stray little hairs at one edge of my upper lip. At the time I was shaving I contemplated the merits of starting a moustache, and decided against it. So I carefully shaved. And damned if I didn’t miss that spot, how in the hell?
I don’t normally shave except once or twice a week, lately it’s been once, and only at the insistence of my wife, who doesn’t want to be seen in public with an unsightly man. (If I’m so unsightly when I’m scruffy, with my rugged good looks and athleticism, why am I sleeping with you, woman? And thank God she doesn’t read this blog, or I might not be, I suppose.) It’s just so depressing. Shave, look ok for a few hours, then you have to shave again or look scruffy.
Nobody looks quite so secure in their job than this guy. I might make a living wage as a janitor and maintenance person, as opposed to my current position. Except for hating the work. And sucking at certain aspects of it. I can do …things. Shut up! And no rumor mongering about the time I tried plumbing and had to call… a plumber…to fix a broken valve. Shut up! And stop laughing at me.
It’s not that I hate this job. It’s that I hate being paid about half of what I need to live, especially if that minimum raise lunacy goes through nationwide. (The economy will adjust, trust me, and everyone at the new minimum ends up still at the bottom.)
I just don’t want to have to do everything, and then just have to do everything all over again. It’s the monotony of it all. There’s no sense of accomplishment after three days from shaving, mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, or cleaning house. There’s no satisfaction in it, after three days. All there is is more crap on the floors to vacuum or sweep or mop or all of the above, another damned sink full of dishes, more grass to mow, and five o’clock shadow run amok.
Seen “The Incredibles?” Mr Incredible got it right right at 1:25 in this clip:
Why can’t it just stay clean?
The only good thing about my job is I’m always going to have work on my desk. But at home it would be nice to have the cash to hire someone. But then, if I did have the cash, we probably wouldn’t spend as much of our time at home messing it up. Or, I’d have the time to do it myself if I didn’t have to spend so much of my time doing outside work to keep the computers on. It would be nice to have the money to buy solar panels and four small wind turbines to generate electricity at home, and sell the excess back to the power company. And there would be excess, except when my kids come home from school and leave every flippin’ light on in the entire house.
I used to daydream about being a stay-at-home. I’d be meticulous. In fact, for a week when I was a stay-at-home, I kept the house perfect. It didn’t hurt that I was manic and bored and Mrs. M and the kids were out of town. But the dishes were done, the floors were spotless(, except for the spots), the laundry was laundered and put away, the beds were made, and the bathrooms were clean. Don’t look in my garage. I said DON’T!! And don’t tell, but that’s where I hide the alleged bodies. If you tell, they won’t find anything but I get my garage completely emptied out and I get to put it all back cleaned, so go ahead. But do it today, I don’t have time on Monday.
There’s a spot I thought I fixed in the garage drywall that needs a re-patch, damn it. I’m aware of it and I want to fix that too. It nags at me just like the tiny hairs on the right corner of my upper lip. Just like the extra two inches of grass in my yard. If I had a moustache I could ignore the hairs. I wonder if I had a lush meadow, and a bunch of holes in the drywall if I could ignore all of that too… hmmm. It may just be an argument to take a few weeks off and not shave or do any housework, or mowing. Except there’d be hell to pay when Mrs. M. demanded I catch up.
I’ll shave when I get home, just to clean up the missed spot. And hope I don’t cut the crap out of my face which I normally do when I try to step too close to the razor. But I don’t think I’ll shave Saturday. I wonder if Mrs. M will notice on Sunday morning…