Sometimes it just feels that I’m stuck in an endless cycle… go to work, come home and clean up a mess, and repeat, ad nauseum til the end of time. It seriously doesn’t end. The crumbs and dried cheese and dirty floors and cat poop… what would it be like to come home to a clean environment? I just have no idea. I know that this is life and it shouldn’t bother me so much, but it does. I really does. I hate it. I wish I lived in a hotel room and a maid came every day. I wish I was in a pristine, spartan environment. I would feel so much better. I used to love going to my aunt’s house as a kid because she is OCD (maybe I take after her) and has a spotless house all the time. She never had to work full-time (then) so maybe that’s how she did it.
Also, I just worked 5 out of 6 days. Maybe that doesn’t sound so crazy to those who work Mon-Fri jobs, but I’m there from 6:30 am to 8:30 pm… just answering demands all day. Constant demands. Messes, crises, other people’s shit… and then come home to a nasty house, a kid who is wound up from missing me and eating junk food, and I just feel like… how is this my life? There has to be more to life than this, there just has to be.
But maybe there isn’t more to it. Maybe I should just be grateful that we’re healthy and I have a job and I can go grocery shopping. I mean, maybe it’s stupid to think that there could be more to it than that? Like, the occasional vacation and the occasional good day, that should maybe be enough? Why can I not just be satisfied that we aren’t destitute or starving?