My 1950's reverso marriage

Sometimes I think I am quite possibly the laziest person alive. And a lousy spouse to boot.

I remember long before I got married I would see all these women who did all the housework, all day, everyday, while their husbands got to go to work, come home and relax. I remember all the lessons, implied and explicit, about how important it was for girls to be good homemakers. To cook and clean and care. I didn't want any of that. I swore that when I got married, we were going to straight up equals, neither of us enslaved to household drudgery (I'm sure it can have its rewards and positive attitude. But come on, cleaning sucks. It's necessary, but it sucks). There was no way I was going to be in such an anachronistic relationship.

Ha. I'm as bad as a vintage '50's husband. Well, minus the affairs and plus the whole talking about feelings thing. But housework wise? I suck. I clean the bathroom. In theory once a week, in reality... well, I've wiped down the worst of it recently, but actually cleaning? I can't remember. I also clean up some clutter and sweep and vacuum the main room. But all that, even on a good week is probably only a little more than an hour. I cook sometimes, but it isn't the norm.

Zach, on the other hand, does dishes, everyday. Which, what with no dishwasher, is substantial. Hell, he does everything in the kitchen, from cleaning out the fridge, to mopping the floor, to cleaning the stove. Everything. And all the laundry (that is largely because he is cheaper than me, and likes to air dry everything and then put it all into the dryer, for 10 minutes each bunch to get rid of the crunchyness). And most of the cooking. And some other stuff.

Yah. Technically, he is in class less hours a week than me (and over the summer, with me working and him in school, he will likely have more time) but generally our workloads are similar. This is just a result of me sucking. There really isn't that great of an explanation. I just get caught up in whatever I'm doing, sink into my relaxing nothingness and then pow! Next thing I know its bedtime. Or worse, I realize what needs doing and just don't wanna. So I don't. And he does.

I do try to be better. Sometimes. And I am, for a while, until I get super busy and it's ok to not do all that, he'll take care of it, after all we are partners, we help one another out. Until suddenly I'm not busy, and we sure aren't acting like partners anymore.

It's a horrible habit. It's not good for him, for us, or even for me. Like so many habits it's so good, so easy, so hard to fight. So here I am, at the end of a long day, where my big accomplishments include taking a shower and getting my hiring paperwork filled. Meanwhile, the kitchen in sparkling, I've been fed, fresh laundry is drying. It's fairly pleasant in the shoebox, or it would be, if everything didn't silently condemn me. And yet here I sit, blogging not doing, again.