Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Weekends Don't Exist

The thing about working at home is that weekends don't exist. (Sort've like you; if you don't leave the house five days a week and work from nine to five then you're some sort of social anomaly, an undiscovered creature unnoticed by the business world. There are days where you feel like you've completely slipped the attention of society and people, and the world you live in is a parallel universe, invisible to everyone except you and your partner. You become a ghost standing off the shoulder of a highway exit no one every uses, watching speeding cars streak by.)

Weekends don't feel like weekends because they're another day at the office. "Work" sets its own agenda. We live around it (like everyone else), but at least we can do it at home in our pajamas. In addition to our careers Italics has several jobs (via the internet) and I execute stereotypical gender-specific domesticated behavior. (<- In other words, I'm also a housewife.)

Marriage and homemakerdom - it's a bizarre, sick game deliberately played in front of an unsuspecting audience. Sometimes it feels so crude and crass that I glance over to Italics, laughing, and ask "CAN'T THEY SEE? ISN'T IT OBVIOUS THAT THIS IS JUST A SEX GAME INVOLVING PLAYING PRETEND?". Whenever Italics refers to me as his wife I have to gnaw on the inside of a cheek just to keep a straight face; we're married, but I've always felt like a mistress (or a sex roommate).

Little things - innocent things - have a veneer that other people can't see through. I cook on a daily basis, I bake fairly regularly ("OH, YOU'RE ALWAYS IN THE KITCHEN, YOU MUST REALLY LOVE COOKING!") and while I do garner satisfaction from a beautifully created dessert, I get the most enjoyment from having Italics watch me eat a comically large portion just before he forces my face into the cake (piggy style) and fucks me from behind (doggie style).

People see "OH, HOW LOVELY! SHE'S BAKED A CAKE FOR HER HUSBAND, HOW SWEET!", not "OH, HOW LOVELY! SHE'S BAKED A CAKE FOR HER HUSBAND TO FORCE FEED HER WHILE HE'S FUCKING HER LIKE AN ANIMAL, HOW SWEET!". Keeping a straight face around others is a constant battle, but it's an amusing one and the game only gets more interesting as the years pass by.

ANYWAY, ANYWAY, ANYWAY. (I've wandered off the beaten track a little.)

Working at home AND taking care of the more traditionally viewed domestic side of things is tricky business - even if it's an elaborate sex game. While I could, hypothetically, bump REAL WORK aside for a day or two (not that I could ever stop THINKING about work, and thinking about work is the same thing as working, so, in reality, I AM ALMOST ALWAYS WORKING TO SOME DEGREE) it doesn't mean that clothing and dishes won't get dirty, and that rooms won't get trashed by my in-laws.

There IS no "weekend" for a housewife, every day is a day filled with cooking, cleaning and looking after people. In fact, I find the traditional Friday, Saturday and Sunday weekend MORE STRESSFUL because EVERYONE IS AT HOME MAKING A FUCKING MESS I NEED TO CLEAN UP. I don't get to breathe a sigh of relief until early Monday morning, when people return back to their nine to five jobs, leaving me to pick up the pieces of a broken house.

(Friday night is the first night I dread; if there was a problem during the week I can almost count on it bringing brought up by a semi-drunk father-in-law just one wall away. (Unless he's being V. LOUD you can't make out what he's saying, although you CAN make out that he's agitated about something, and that something is probably me.) Friday evenings, for reasons above, are no longer the celebratory evenings of my youth.)

(Saturday either involves hiding in the computer room/office all day since the house is full, or waking up several times during my sleep schedule thanks to Mr. Awesome shouting, stomping or slamming things shut. Sometimes, due to sheer weekend retardedness, he'll kill something, break something, ruin something or throw out something of mine which then requires my mother-in-law to intervene. If that happens you can definitely count on hearing him bitch later in the day, completely oblivious we're on the other side of the drywall.)

(Sunday I'm in a state of despair at the condition of the house. If something happened the night before the house will be tense, uncomfortable and even my in-laws will (typically) avoid us. Sunday is the day that I tell myself "JUST ONE MORE DAY" and get the paper which I WON'T READ because the in-laws usually jump on it first. Even a year or two after walking away from university I hated Sundays for their inevitable Mondays ("NOOOO! I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL TOMORROW!"), but now? I hold my breath for Mondays.)

Daily routines are a double edged sword, they keep me focused and sane, but they make every day of the week identical to the last. Every day I wake up, have a piss, turn on the kettle to boil water, say hello to the rats, turn on the computer, make my tea, let the rats out, write an entry, make breakfast, share breakfast with the rats and do a few internet things. By the time I'm peeking at social network sites and browsing Ebay (or Etsy) Italics is up, and the next phase (II: STRAPPING ON THE APRON) of my day begins.

Despite the photocopied nature of my life I find that having a daily routine calming, it's predictable and it acts as a driving force that keeps me active. (<- I'M RETARDED, I LIKE FAMILIAR THINGS. THEY DON'T SPOOK OR UPSET ME. I KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT AND IT HELPS CENTER ME.) Taking a few days off my everyday life can be catastrophic; I lose my footing. (Fuck, just doing things out of order or adding an unfamiliar element or activity is enough to disrupt my bowel movements. Seriously. <- Even THAT falls into my daily schedule - between letting the rats out and writing an entry, like involuntary clockwork.)

Weekends, for me, are a dangerous, slippery slope. One day of taking it easy eventually justifies another day of taking it easy ("IF OTHER PEOPLE ARE ALLOWED TWO DAYS A WEEK, SO AM I, DAMMIT"). After the second day of ignoring the internet, getting high first thing, eating French toast for breakfast while I read the papers and Italics plays Grand Theft Auto I desperately want to configure my life so that lazy, easy going morning is EVERY DAY instead of ALMOST NEVER DAY.

(You would NOT believe the excruciating amount of effort needed to even write this entry after several days of ignoring my journal/diary. The very act of writing and publishing this entry feels like offering a sacrificial lamb. <- "IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT'S GOOD OR FUNNY OR NOTEWORTHY, JUST FUCKING //WRITE SOMETHING// TO RECREATE THE DAILY ROUTINE YOU'VE NEGLECTED.")

In abrupt conclusion: weekends are AWESOME, but perhaps too awesome to observe on a weekly - or even monthly - basis.