Do you ever just have one of those days (or weeks, months, okay years!) that everything you’ve been stacking neatly on your shelf of things that bug you just comes tumbling down? If not, then just scroll on, because today is my day and if you’re with me - just cuddle up here on the couch and let’s have a good bawl!
Last week a friend suggested that I watch the Netflix TV Series, The Home Edit. Now, I knew that it would set a fire under my American thighs and it did not disappoint! I mean, come on! Celebs, regular people, all going from chaos to (insert angel’s chorus) calm, literal rainbows and function? I was IN!
I shopped all the clear containers, brought them home, washed them in hot soapy water and stacked them to dry for the following day’s cleanout. Then I took a deep breath and centered myself before opening my refrigerator of doom! There were meant-well bell peppers, half enjoyed guacamole cups, the bagged salad that I meant to eat but couldn’t find and three or four containers of leftovers from meals that I’d lovingly prepped, but the roomies got take out instead - know what I mean?
I filled said containers with water until the contents were soft enough (or so I thought) for the hungry-hungry garbage disposal. Pot roast, jambalaya, cheddar & broccoli soup all mixed with soapy sink water and got munched down without as much as a wet burp from Jabba. Or so I thought.
I happily refilled my beautiful fridge and pantry with perfectly lined up containers of fresh eggs, multi-color peppers (I’ll eat them now!) apples, cheeses and meats. I was so damn proud! So I turned to the pantry. Tumbling over spices now stand tall next to each other in a pretty row, vinegars and oils have their respective turn-tables and even the boxes of carbonated water are all stacked neatly. I could not have puffed out my chest any farther.
Then I went to put away my clean dishes out of the dishwasher… but wait. I didn’t feel that squeaky clean glass feeling as I grabbed the mason jars from the top row. What’s up? I checked to make sure the dishwasher tab didn’t get stuck in the thing-a-ma-jig. It hadn’t. I ran water in my sink and turned on Jabba. Jabba warbled, he moaned and groaned, but the water just got grimier and grosser until it backed up into the other sink. Gads the smell made me swoon green like Leia. Where is my plunger?
Now the fun really starts. I’ve purchased TWO plungers since I moved here in 2019. TWO. It’s not in the bathroom, not in the hall closet, heck I even unpacked the outside closet thinking it must be stashed into one of the “not necessary to unpack” boxes we shoved in there under Christmas and Halloween decorations. Nope.
So, I grab the big red bottle of clear-a-clog and empty a cupful in each sink. Jabba rumbles. I set the timer for an hour. After it beeps, I had two big pots of boiling water to dump into the drains to show Jabba I meant business. Jabba pukes up all the water in sink 1 into sink 2. I turned him off and sink 2 empties halfway into sink 1. I repeat the process of even MORE boiling water. Neither sink was amused. Stoically, they sat and mocked my intention. Dammit.
I pour more red bottle gunk and it boils to the top of the water in a rainbow foam. I decided to let it rest overnight. Besides I needed to watch more Kominsky Method before I turned in. I had friends visiting the next day and I never have company, so was stoked.
Up this morning, I had an hour before starting work, so I visit my coffee pot. Ugh. I had to wash it in the bathroom sink because the rainbow foam now looked like a pile of Cool Whip in my two sinks. I enjoyed my cuppa and returned to the kitchen. My kitty girl is so precious but I swear she discards a whole cat every night over my laminate floors. Before I faced the sink sitch, I decide to rev up Ron Howard, my dearest robot vacuum lover boy. Ron didn’t blink. WHAT?!
Someone had unplugged him and I’m the shortest legged and armed person in this apartment and cannot reach the plug without moving and shifting furniture that I cannot possibly budge without the influence of caffeine. UGH! UGH! I sit down on the sofa to author a text to my two twenty-something roommates, including humor and angst and two Bo Burnham references to lower the tension. “Please, please plug in the things you unplug so as to not overcomplicate my life with agita.” Send. Breathe. Dust cat fur off my soles and march into the kitchen. Coffee. Yes, darling!
Returned to my computer to teach my first class of the day. Did some website updates during the chatter and popped in a few notes to myself in planning for next weeks activities. Something accomplished! There.
Now most certainly something would budge, shift and I could get ready for my company. Yes, this was the turn of the tides, I was confident. I flipped Jabba’s switch and he matched Ron Howard’s enthusiasm with a silent nothing. NOTHING!! I melted. Tears burned the backs of my eyes.
Roomie #1 comes in and I ask about the missing plungers. He hasn’t seen them. I talk to him about the possibility of removing the U pipe under the sink to go spelunking with our handy little drain doohickeys that remove hair from the tub drain. He looks at me blankly. Do I think he’s hidden the plungers? No. Why am I this upset? I explain to him that the little things matter.
Over the past few months, seemingly small things go missing or end up in disrepair that cause me ire. My garbage can that I collect cans in got thrown out. My trash can pop-up lid stopped popping up and I realized that someone had discarded the little springs that make it work. No one confessed to have any idea what happened to them. My hand vac that I use to clean out my car is nowhere to be found, although the hardware for hanging it up is waiting patiently for it’s return on my kitchen lazy susan. Now this.
Roomie #2 arrives back from work, takes one look at me - not the happy-go-lucky, always meets him with a happy welcome home grin - and he high tails it to a closed door in his room. I’m too much for him.
My shelf, with all the little things that I just decided weren’t worth causing a ruckus over, finally broke. My tears continued to sting the backs of my eyes. I realize that in this situation, I am clearly to blame because “I” wanted to organize the fridge. “I” bought all the things to make it cleaner - prettier - easier to manage. All the meals that “I” cooked and left uneaten and sat in the fridge to just be thrown out later. “My” enthusiasm to provide this eye-appealing, easier to navigate Home Edit was the cause of all this disaster.
I crumbled into the sofa, aching for the tears to just spill over already.
I asked Roomie #1 to just vacuum. Just. Vacuum. He says why don’t I just go to Walgreens and buy another plunger? This is his solution. I’m exhausted emotionally. I said, “I’m just going to get a shower,” and he leaves to his room. Closed door.
I’m fresh out of the shower and needed ALL THIS to go somewhere. My therapist says “write” and so I do.
Now I’ll go into the kitchen, find a damn clear plastic container to put under my sink joint and try to catch all of the soapy, funky Jabba puke into. I’ll probably go to flush it and drown the bathroom. Okay on second thought I’ll just wait until after the holiday and call maintenance with my shame. Who needs clean dishes? I’ll support the restaurant industry and just use a broom already. And I think I’ll just shave my cat.
Thanks for reading and thank you even more if you laughed with empathy. It’s all we really need.
