I wrote in my group this morning about how tough I find it to finish things.
I clean the sink and leave one mug behind. I always leave a part of the lawn unmowed (unmown?), after my interpretive mowing session.
I nod at my personality that does this, it has been a long time I’ve known myself after all. the enjoyment of an entirely empty sink, so far, delayed eternally. I know it is not for everyone and some people are actually crying at the thought of it, right now, as I type.
Its NOT avoidance, believe it or not. I have come to think its a recognition of the futility of ever finishing the job. There is no finishing of the dishes, there is no ‘well, look now, that job is DONE’. There will be a plate, a mug, a cup, within minutes.
The toaster will continue making crumbs, because that is its JOB. I’ve long held a suspicion that the inanimate objects around me are not in fact, insensate.
This might be the final moment for me, when you, dear reader, realize I am a nutbag. I have long tried to keep this from you. long.
I have a relationship with my toaster. I love it. It brings me toasted things so happily. I love my kitchen table. It gathers my children to me, and holds the stains of a million art projects. I am not that friendly with my stupid dryer, because he’s a bitch, and won’t dry my clothes fast. (definitely male-all that heat and exhaust)
(it is of further interest to me, that i do NOT personalize my phone. for all the time i spend with it, it is nothing but a tool, and not a good one, and I know it.)
There is very little in life that finishes. –It just morphs. Relationships live on in memory, in my case, not always happily, but sometimes. Love and loss and grief just stay, in various forms. Says I.