Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Less Than Five Minutes

I told my father-in-law off yesterday. (If you can even count six bitchily terse words "told off".) In the kitchen. After angrily unloading the dishwasher. Three hours before my mother-in-law arrived home from work. On Italics' 30th birthday.

This sort've thing? Just kind've happens unexpectedly (at least with me).

In my defense, my statement was completely 100% factual - it really DID take me "less than five minutes" to unload the goddamn dishwasher. He fucking knew it, he stiffly stood at a fucking counter behind my back and awkwardly played with his phone THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME WITHOUT ONCE OFFERING TO HELP.

"That took less than five minutes."

Six words ignited a flush of panic that surged through the house. (HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD, MS. GRAVEYARD DIRT FINALLY HAD E-FUCKING-NOUGH AND SAID SOMETHING DIRECTLY TO MR. AWESOME'S FACE.)

My father-in-law, having somehow miraculously gotten through life without people calling him on his daily bullshit, almost dropped the phone he was pretending to play with. (If you want to see what "incredulously stunned" looks like, Mr. Awesome does an AMAZING shocked expression when confronted with the prospect that ANYONE could have ANY sort of negative reaction to ANYTHING he's said or done.)

Here's the thing, I only ask THREE things from my father-in-law (two of which require him to do absolutely NOTHING):

01. Don't touch my fucking stuff
02. Don't make up fucking stories about me
03. Help with the fucking dishes

That's all. Seriously. He's not obligated to do ANYTHING else. In the space of nearly a decade has he nailed all three? No. Has he nailed - or at least made a genuine attempt to - just one? No.

(WOULD IT BE TACKY OF ME TO STRESS AGAIN THAT TWO OF THE THREE THINGS I'VE ASKED FROM MY FATHER-IN-LAW REQUIRE HIM TO DO ABSOLUTELY ~NOTHING~ AND YET, SOMEHOW, HE'S COMPLETELY INCAPABLE OF //NOT DOING THEM//.)

(HOLY SHIT, DUDE, YOU'RE THE LAZIEST MOTHERFUCKER I'VE MET AND YET, SOMEHOW, YOU UTTERLY FAIL AT TWO THINGS THAT REQUIRES *NO* EFFORT AND *NO* ENERGY. <- HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN WORK?)

Look, I've learned my lesson. Don't shoot your mouth off on the net about other people in exquisitely hyperbolic ways. (Long story short? One of Italics' family members - an uncle, but only through marriage - developed a questionable interest in me and internet stalked my ass. Fistfuls of journal entries I had written - printed out by him - were forced into my mother-in-law's hands during secret meetings.)

(Everyone knew about it EXCEPT my father-in-law (who Italics' uncle was trying to get to, because I was "saying nasty things about Mr. Awesome on the internet" so it was his "Christian duty" to get involved), and it was only by the grace of fucking God we were spared of that disaster. That, and, shortly after Italics' uncle was rushed to the hospital with spontaneous internal bleeding which nearly killed him; I think the medical episode gently dissuaded him from continuing with his "Christian" crusade.)

When I returned to the world of on-line journaling after a several year hiatus I knew I had to restrain myself and can it ("it" = bitching about my relationship with the in-laws), at least for the most part. (WHAT'S WORSE THAN READING A PUBLISHED LIST OF YOUR PERSONAL FAULTS AND SHORT COMINGS WRITTEN BY SOMEONE YOU LIVE WITH? READING A PUBLISHED LIST OF YOUR PERSONAL FAULTS AND SHORT COMINGS WRITTEN BY SOMEONE YOU LIVE WITH WHO ALSO GOES INTO INTRINSIC DETAIL REGARDING THE HEX SHE'S PUT ON YOUR ASS. MULTIPLE TIMES. <- AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM SUSPICIOUSLY COINCIDES WITH AN UNEXPECTED HEALTH PROBLEM.)

(My slate? Even Cillit Bang couldn't fucking clean it. That motherfucker is tarnished for all fucking eternity, and no amount of "Power Cleaning Crystals" can fix it.)

Internet, Diary, Visitors and Reoccurring Readers, I've deliberately veered away at every understandable opportunity. Me not recording, noting and/or WTFing every bizarre, inexplicable and/or frustrating run-in has been one of my biggest and most impressive exercises in motherfucking restraint to date.

(Wait, no, I take that back - not slapping, decking and spitting on Mr. Awesome has been an impressive exercise in restraint from this temperamental autistic Aries that even God him-fucking-self must've duly noted by now. <- In the near 10 years I've lived with my in-laws I've only been directly confrontational to my father-in-law three, maybe four times.)

I don't lie, embellish or exaggerate things; I find that shit abhorrently pathetic, counterproductive and totally against what I'm - and Graveyard Dirt's - all about. What I AM guilty of, though, is harboring grudges. Combine THAT eternal flame with my devil's talent of wishing ill in the most beautifully creative of ways and I'm back to motherfucking square one, with NEW diary entries being forced into my mother-in-law's hands.

I consciously cooled it - which, admittedly, is a minor tragedy since it deprives the world of "HOLY SHIT, HE DID / SAID / THOUGHT //WHAT//?!" stories - because I didn't feel (and still don't, to some extent) I could untangle myself from the situations in an objective way. Thanks to the only-uncle-by-marriage crisis I learned a valuable lesson: the difference between mercilessly attacking someone until there was nothing left but gristle and cartilage, and laying out my argument in factual blocks lacking any emotional sensationalism.

The thing is, I LEARNED the lesson, but executing the lesson learned IS A LOT FUCKING HARDER so I've deliberately failed to exercise that particular intellectual muscle. (Seriously, can you fucking blame me?) Instead I've compressed every feeling of hopelessness, rage, insult, offense, frustration, annoyance, aggravation, agitation, depression and dis-fucking-belief into a crumbled ball of sweltering emotion and swallowed the thing, every fucking time. (Maybe THAT'S how my stomach valve broke?)

If physically clawing my father-in-law's face isn't a POSITIVE solution, then figuratively clawing my father-in-law's face behind his back in front of a virtual audience isn't one, either. If someone - anyone - confronts me about the content of this space I need to be able to go "...AND?" instead of "...UH, WHOOPS?". (<- IT ONLY TOOK ME THE PROSPECT OF BEING HOMELESS BEFORE THAT PARTICULAR NUGGET OF WISDOM SUNK IN.)

Right.

Now that all of that's been said, and you've been gently spoon-fed some personal history for context: "That took less than five minutes."

In the past few years my father-in-law's developed a habit involving unloading the dishwasher that's left us confused and irritated. As in, he won't if he sees the majority of the dishes aren't "his". He'll open the fucking thing, and if he notices that 60% of the content has no direct connection to him he'll sigh, close the dishwasher and leave it.

(He'll actually go through those motions several time throughout the day, although the sighing gets more and more exasperated when he sees - at every instance - the clean dishes haven't sprouted fucking legs and put themselves away yet.)

My father-in-law has only one obligational chore in this house - chip into the communal dishes effort. That's it. He's doesn't do anything else, he isn't required to do anything else. I've never seen him dust, vacuum, wash units down, clean windows from the inside, disinfect the fridge or take part in efforts that benefited EVERYONE in the house (which means things "washing his own laundry" and "ironing his own laundry" doesn't count because NO ONE ELSE BENEFITS FROM THOSE ACTS).

There are four adults in this house who are supposed to share the one responsibility, but one of the four will excuse himself for reasons unknown and engage in frequent sit down strikes. When he does that the other three - two who have full time jobs (Italics and his mother) and the one who'd LIKE to have a full time job but instead pulled the Cinderella straw which, really, IS a full time job but not the kind she'd like - have to pick up the slack.

There's no nice way of saying this, but - Mr. Awesome doesn't really do anything other than sit around, drink coffee, watch TV and occasionally disappear to wherever he disappears to for 1-4 hours at a time. My mother-in-law is out of the house 7-10 hours a day at work, Italics works four different jobs at home and the majority of my day is dedicated to the running of this house (cleaning, cooking, organizing, feeding, etc).

Everyone OTHER than him has a lot on their plate, and when he's silently protesting whatever the fuck he's protesting even MORE shit gets added to our collective plates. The last thing I want to see is Italics or my mother-in-law having to unload the fucking dishwasher after a ten hour shift because Mr. Awesome was too busy drinking instant coffee while watching daytime television to lend a fucking hand.

As someone who does the majority of the cleaning, cooking, organizing and feeding I fucking FANTASIZE about being in a position where unloading clean dishes was my sole responsibility and contribution to the management of the house. (And it's not like I leave dishes on purpose. If they're done and I have a few minutes to spare I'll unload them - even if I was the one who rinsed them off and loaded them up in the first place. So it's not even a case of everyone's been designated a role they absolutely have to live by, it's more of a free-for-all.)

(Let's be totally honest and totally serious here - putting away clean dishes, possibly the EASIEST job in the world? You don't have to touch a greasy ass sponge, you don't have to scrub off bits of food stuck to plates like motherfucking concrete, you don't have to turn the faucet on, you don't have to get your hands wet, you don't have to dry the sink and the surrounding areas and you don't have to wash your nasty ass dirty dishes hands immediately after. Putting clean motherfucking dishes away has got to be one of the easiest fucking "chores" anyone could possibly fucking do.)

What bothers me most about his "NOT MY MESS!" attitude is his obvious resentment in being forced to participate in an activity that he feels doesn't directly relate or concern him. Look, dude, if you're eating the homemade macaroni and cheese I made, the beef and duck stew, the gingerbread cookies, the lamb shanks braised in homemade tomato sauce, the ribs I've warmed up, the pie I baked from scratch, the cornmeal buttermilk breakfast muffins then THE DISHES USED TO BAKE-COOK-STEW THE FOODS YOU'VE EAGERLY CONSUMED ARE PART OF YOUR MOTHERFUCKING RESPONSIBILITY.

Holy shit, I spent three - THREE! - solid fucking days in the kitchen to make several meals for everyone to enjoy. I thoroughly cleaned the kitchen before I embarked on my culinary odyssey, I thoroughly cleaned the kitchen after I embarked on my culinary odyssey. I washed dishes, loaded up the dishwasher and unloaded the dishes SEVERAL TIMES BY MYSELF to ensure that people didn't feel like I was abusing the system.

I left one 1/2 load of dishes - NOT EVEN A FULL FUCKING LOAD! - and my father-in-law didn't have time do unload them, but he DID have time to enjoy the food I prepared, drink his instant coffee, watch TV, move the cutting board around to the way he likes it and check the dishwasher status several times. (i.e., "ANYONE UNLOAD THIS YET? NO. WELL, OKAY. " *CLOSES THE MACHINE*)

Normally I let his strikes slide - or at least complain to Italics so he can inform his mother that his father has voluntarily timed himself out so she can get him to return to his shared duties - but after three days of standing for 12ish hours a day left me tired, cranky and sore.

"That took less than five minutes."

If I cleaned YOUR fucking kitchen, made several dinners and desserts for YOUR BENEFIT, thoroughly cleaned up after myself and left the room in BETTER condition than I found it and YOU couldn't find LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES to put away a 1/2 load of fucking clean dishes (out of the 4-6 loads that were actually run) and just left them for your wife to do - who works 7-10 hours, five days a week - when she came home? You deserve those six fucking words said straight to your fucking face; end of fucking story.

(OKAY, THAT WAS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN "MERCILESSLY ATTACKING SOMEONE UNTIL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT BUT GRISTLE AND CARTILAGE" AND "LAYING OUT MY ARGUMENT IN FACTUAL BLOCKS LACKING EMOTIONAL SENSATIONALISM", RIGHT? ...RIGHT?)