A change of pace
Finding what fits
Dishes continued to pile up in the sink, and I continued to do nothing about it. Each morning, I would provide the stainless steel basin with offerings of empty coffee cups, used egg cups, bowls with remnants of yoghurts, or plates with residual toast crumbs. When I returned from work, my gifts remained unmoved, and I felt no inclination to move them.
At dinner, there were fewer opportunities for contribution. Instead, attention was turned to the overflowing bin. I adorned her with more rubbish. Greasy paper bags, once containing take-away food, skirted her edges, and pizza boxes stood stoically by her side.
I wouldn’t consider myself lazy. Laziness to me is the avoidance of completing a task with the knowledge that it has to be done. You can only be unwilling to do something if it is, without question, something you should or are expected to do. I have ordained that washing the dishes and emptying the bin are not something I need to do. Ergo, I am not lazy. If there is no one to witness or judge my decree, then it is absolute.
My aversion to housework began some months before, but the general strike has already lasted two weeks. One morning, I woke up and decided not to make my bed. I left it as it was, softly moulded to my shape and the form of my dreams. When I left for work, I felt the same as I did when I had deliberately put two chocolate bars in my handbag at the supermarket and left without paying. An undercurrent of thrill brought saturation to my otherwise monotonous day. The slight break of routine was enough for my life to fission. Ahead lay two paths. One where everything went back to how it had been the day before, or one of resistance.
That evening, I returned back to my apartment lethargic and dulled by the senselessness of the day. Dissociative and bleary eyed, I undressed, showered, and did my skincare routine. I put my pyjamas on, picked an outfit to wear the next day and did a load of washing. I made dinner and sat down to watch TV at 9pm. In less than twelve hours, I would be back at my job, like a stretched out spring pulled tightly back into place.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to leave my bed unmade for a second day in a row. It just happened. The new order had been established. Slowly, in ways that were subtle and easy to miss, I began to leave other things undone too. I allowed the food in my cupboards to deplete. No longer bothered about what to have for dinner I made my way through out of date cans of soup, forgotten packets of super noodles, lentils, chickpeas, pasta, and different kinds of beans.
The milk in my fridge went off and like a school science experiment, I watched the liquid separate itself inside the bottle. Slimy curds started to float around like dead fish in a pond. I left all the fruit in the bowl on my dining table to rot. The flies bothered me enough to execute a purge of the perished. Hastily, I dumped it all in the bin and took my last trip to the chute. Behind me, I found a ceremonious trail of unidentifiable juice left in its wake.
I reasoned with myself that I still needed to eat. Breakfast food was permitted as long as it was bought at the corner shop. Journeys could no longer be made if they were not between my apartment or work. This was the perimeter in which I was allowed to exist….
I wasn’t sure what to write today. I was in a bad mood when I sat down at my laptop to begin because my fingers were cold. So, I decided to work from a photo and kick off a piece of creative fiction. As I spend more of my time working on fiction and writing short stories it can be a nice mindset to maintain, instead of forcing myself to find something else to write about for the sake of it. I feel more energised for the afternoon of writing ahead of me.
