July 8, 2003

• Domestic, Not Imported
  
  I'm discovering a new world of domesticity. I always hated and resented chores as a child, like doing laundry or cleaning my room. I think it was because it was someone else's schedule, or standards, or needs. It didn't arise out of my on-again/off-again work berzerk rythms. I didn't even know I had work berzerk rythms until a short while ago, at least, not in the sense of understanding that it could be a useful personality trait.
  
  While I lived with other people, I didn't do many chores. I'll own up to it: I was a lousy housemate in many ways. But the justification I'll try to pass off on that is the same as the one above; the demand was made at the wrong time, or the work to be done didn't have much to do with me, or my other contributions were ignored in the process. (I won't talk about the concrete pathway, Shui House. )
  
  So here I am, all alone in a house, and on the one hand, the overwhelming pressure to clean up my own crap is pretty great if I'm not managing it. But on the other hand, I can ignore the overwhelming things and do other things that are potentially just as important. The overwhelming things will get less overwhelming later, or I'll get the momentum happening and just breeze through them.
  
  
  Yesterday I got the momentum to instal the low-voltage lighting system the landlord left. The lights themselves had been stuck in the ground, but the wiring was still in a box in the garage. It's about as hard to install these things as it is to connect a speaker to a stereo.
  
  And, of course, since there's going to be lighting, the beds have to look nice, so I did some weeding. In fact, I did a lot of weeding. In fact, I weeded most of the back yard, even in places I didn't even realize it needed weeding.
  
  And I really enjoyed it. I even mowed the yard, in a fit of obsessive order-making, to trim the borders where I had weeded.
  
  All a product of being alone, of having space to enjoy these things away from anyone else.
  
  While growing up, things like yard work were about responsibility; they were about filling someone else's needs, and I didn't realize they could be about my pleasure. (I'm reading what I just wrote, and I'm thinking, "Oh, geez. I'm so middle class.") I've enjoyed keeping the plants alive, but only just now have I had any sense that keeping my landlord's yard nice is a self-justifying opportunity.
  
  
  Meanwhile, the neighbor to the east came home, and caught me watering the front yard. She was putting seeper hose out to the area of my yard that's shared with hers, where some roses are planted close to the road for everyone to enjoy. We talked about garden-y, homeowner-y things. I ended up on her back porch drinking margaritas and helping her fix a broken garden hose.
  
  Life is strange.

  • 4:22 am
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