November 1st, 2012.

So, November.

I have of late neglected a lot of potential projects. Undoubtedly more will follow. The exercise is in trying to settle on those – just one, preferably, which suits the needs of my family and myself. Notably, a money-making effort.

I think I’ve arrived at the conclusion that I need not bother myself so much about my wife and her plight. I have been bothered for years, in as much as I witnessed, still do, her lazyness and unwillingness to sacrifice herself before her family. She hasn’t been a worthy contributor, and my conclusion after many years is that she won’t be in the same fashion as I. It bothers me, of course it does. She says that she could never give up writing, but she’s blind to the possibility of working through the day and writing in the evenings. Those are reserved for movies and the odd television show, always were. Whereas for many years I worked through my day-job, got home, played with the kids, then after they were in bed I went down into the basement and worked again, until midnight and through the weekends and during my holidays from regular work. I had a company and I needed to maintain it to keep our family going in the lue of being a one-income family, so I effectively made it a two-income family – and that’s what supports us to this day. She would, if she read this which she never will, be upset and state her defence in that she kept the house and made the food and did the shopping and cleaning and washing, but I can stake my claim here that those efforts never amounted to twenty percent of the effort I put in (and, when not working, I didn’t sit down to play the xbox or watch a movie, I helped keep the house). I must confess to being not appreciated enough for the kind of time I invested in my family, and for which she was for the past eight years and still to this day able to be a house-wife who doesn’t do much house-work. It doesn’t take eight hours a day to keep a reasonable house, yet still when I get back from work the washing is stacked high, the kitchen is a mess, everything is a mess. An hour’s worth of vacuuming and dusting, in her mind it equals a full working day of mine.  I think what happened during those years is that when I was out of sight, in the basement working my ass off, she simply focused on herself and the kids, and in her mind there was nothing to appreciate in as much as she doesn’t care about me when I’m not visible or available.

“Not being bothered” about it means not being angry about the fact that she’s in there, watching a movie, when I’m working. It means not comparing how many hours a day we each do something which we actually like, as opposed to something we do because we simply have to – whether it is going to work, cleaning the house, playing with the kids. For a long time I have been upset about that, that she never seemed to appreciate the effort I put in and generally never seemed to care about not having a job, and not helping her family out. I now realize that’s how she is and there’s no changing it. It’s like her never-ending diets, one can try but it always ends in vain. And, also, it means not being angry about how she takes all that which she has for granted, never stopping to think about where it comes from or how she could help. She feels she does enough and couldn’t do more. I wish at times we could have an outside observer come in and apply value to each of our labor. Which would they favor, yours truly who gets up, goes to work, pick the kid up from Kindergarten, get home, play with him, then tuck him in and goes to work on whichever project helps the family the more – mending the car or working on establishing new sources of income. Or her, who gets up, sees to it that K gets out the door, brings the kid to Kindergarten – and then has some 7 hours to herself, of which a maximum of two are spent doing chores, until K gets home from school (by way of the school bus), then an hour is spent cooking dinner and then it’s K’s bedtime, then she’s firing up a movie on her laptop. That’s a minimum of 8 eight hours to her own devices – I get 3 to 4, from 20 to 23-24. What if I were to tell her that we’d have to make equal count of working hours, that she would have to skip her evenings in favor of work and make do with what free time the day-time brings? She’d go ape-shit. She would say something in her defence to the effect of ‘me being at home means you can work odd hours and go see your friends when ever you want’. Yeah, but I only work odd hours because I have to make money so she can stay at home(!), and I never actually took her up on that ‘free Thursday evenings’-thing.

Compared to many, many others it’s such an easy life she lives, but she just won’t see it, in her world she works long and hard and nothing has ever come easy. I guess not being bothered about that essentially means not being upset about that, how she takes all that time which she has for granted. Why, because it’s not going to change so where she point in being upset about it, that’ll only aggretivate me and lead to nothing but bickering. That’s what the conclusion is truly worth, because it will save me some frustrations and energy I could direct better elsewhere, notably my children.

I won’t say it’ll never bother me again, of course it will, but I at least hope I’ll have less time for it, the bother. It’s not constructive, destructive, rather. Given how little time I have available beyond work, family and trying to make ends meet, I could certainly do with a bit extra spirit.

Have begun running again, establishing a beachhead on the treadmill in front of the 51″ tv downstairs. Works out fine so far, hope I’ll stick with it. Glad I’m not out and about, this time of year.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s