Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Block of 10

You know how I sometimes (and when I say "sometimes" I actually mean "I'M AWARE THAT I COMPLAIN ABOUT IT ALL OF THE GODDAMN TIME") say I'M ALWAYS FUCKING PICKING UP AFTER FUCKING PEOPLE IN THIS FUCKING HOUSE? Case in point (in the space of less than 10 minutes):

I spend a few long, long minutes straightening the kitchen so I can take a few pictures of food I've recently whipped up. (Dishes need to get put away, counter tops need to get dusted, papers need to get filed and combined, odds and ends either need to be thrown out or put back in their cabinet space - that sort've thing.) Just as I'm leaving to stick one of the French loaves in the outside freezer my in-laws come home.

While I'm bouncing down the patio steps towards the detached room I notice that the two towels my mother-in-law hung up on the line MORE THAN FOUR DAYS AGO are //STILL// lying on the fucking ground. (OH, I'VE BEEN AWARE OF THAT PROBLEM FOR A FEW DAYS NOW BUT REFUSED TO INTERVENE.)(I sometimes leave shit like that just to see how long it'll take before SOMEONE OTHER THAN ME does something about it OR AT LEAST NOTICES.)

(SOMETIMES, HONESTLY, I WOULD SETTLE FOR JUST "NOTICING", BUT THAT'S A SLIPPERY SLOPE. IF MY IN-LAWS ARE THE ONES WHO "NOTICE" THEY'LL MAKE A BIG PRODUCTION ABOUT CLEANING IT UP/RECTIFYING THE PROBLEM, AND THEN THEY'LL LET EVERYONE ELSE LIVING IN THIS HOUSE KNOW WHAT THEY'VE JUST DONE.)(AND, IF I'M SUPER LUCKY, AFTER THEY TRUMPET THEIR GLORIOUS VICTORY TO EVERY PERSON THAT COHABITS HERE THEY'LL TRY AND PIN THE CARELESSNESS ON US; EVEN IF IT'S THEIR SHIT THEY LEFT LYING AROUND.)

Yanking the frozen towels OFF the ground was like ripping winter root vegetables OUT of the ground, although I think any winter vegetable would've been covered in less dirt, sticks, moss, lichen and ice. Once I managed to pick MOST of the debris off TOWELS I DIDN'T WASH AND DIDN'T HANG UP (WITHOUT FUCKING PEGS, MIGHT I ADD, SO THEY WERE LITERALLY JUST THROWN OVER A CORNER OF THE LINE AND ABANDONED) that had been LYING ON THE GROUND FOR MORE THAN FOUR FUCKING DAYS I took them indoors and threw them directly into the wash.

(AND WHEN DOING SO I INWARDLY CRINGED BECAUSE I KNOW IF MY MOTHER-IN-LAW SEES THE TOWELS IN THE WASHING MACHINE SHE'LL MAKE SOME RETARDED COMMENT LIKE "OH, THOSE ARE DIRTY ALREADY? I JUST WASHED THEM A FEW DAYS AGO..." AND I'LL HAVE TO RESTRAIN MYSELF FROM SAYING ANYTHING IN RESPONSE BECAUSE SHE'LL MAKE HER PATENTED SAD FACE AT ME WHEN I MAKE OUT THAT IT'S KIND'VE SORT'VE FRUSTRATING TO HAVE TO PICK UP AFTER SOMEONE WHO'S DOUBLE MY AGE AS IF SHE'S ONLY A FRACTION OF MINE.)

After I finish wiping ice crystals off my clothes and hands I notice that THEY MANAGED TO FUCKING DECIMATE THE KITCHEN I //JUST FINISHED CLEANING// PRIOR TO THEM COMING HOME. So I left the mess, left the grocery bags, left the strewn grocery food, left the pans and took the newspaper they bought into the room they were in and passed it on saying "I'M JUST STRAIGHTENING UP THE KITCHEN, AGAIN, BECAUSE I WAS GETTING READY TO TAKE PICTURES OF FOOD BEFORE YOU CAME HOME".

I WAS SO PAINFULLY UNSUBTLE WITH LOOK, TONE AND WORD CHOICE AND EVEN //THAT// WAS WAY TOO SUBTLE ON THEM. SERIOUSLY. I got an "OH THANKS!" and "I'LL LEAVE YOU TO IT BECAUSE I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU ENJOY THAT!" and all attention was back on the TV.

So I wandered back into the kitchen, unloaded their groceries, put away their groceries, stored the bags, put away pots and pans, did the dishes, dusted the counters and tried to set up my tres weak photo shoot (no light box, no proper photo-friendly lighting), but by the time I cleaned and picked up for a second time the best of the natural light was gone and I had to rely on the fucking overhead spotlights beneath the fucking cabinets.

The icing on this less-than-10-minute cake? When storing away the fresh bread I had taken pictures of I noticed that one of my in-laws was TOO FUCKING LAZY TO THROW OUT A FUCKING MUFFIN WRAPPER AND INSTEAD OF TOSSING IT IN THE FUCKING TRASH THEY "HID" THE CRUMPLED UP WRAPPER IN THE FUCKING BREAD BOX.

(MY IN-LAWS, BTW, ARE BOTH 60+ AND NEITHER HAS ANY SORT OF TAXING MENTAL PROBLEM THAT WOULD OTHERWISE RENDER THEM INCAPABLE OF UNDERSTANDING WHY A 28 YEAR OLD WOMAN WHO CONSTANTLY PICKS UP AFTER THEM AS IF THEY WERE CHILDREN WOULD BE IRRITATED BY FINDING WHAT'S OSTENSIBLY TRASH THEY WERE TOO FUCKING LAZY TO THROW AWAY HIDDEN BENEATH A NAPKIN IN THE FUCKING BREADBOX.)

All of this shit? In less than 10 minutes. Why I am so goddamn cranky about this less-than-10-minutes shit? BECAUSE IT'S NEVER JUST //ONE// BLOCK OF "LESS THAN 10 MINUTES"; IT'S A BLOCK OF TEN FOLLOWED BY A BLOCK OF TEN FOLLOWED BY YET ANOTHER BLOCK OF TEN WHICH MEANS THAT I'M LOOKING AT, ON AVERAGE, 90 POSSIBLE BLOCKS OF LESS-THAN-10-MINUTES EVERY FUCKING DAY.