I don't want to; please, understand. It's her job: she's on call, 24/7. We'll be eating a pleasant, Thai supper when the pager goes off. We'll be napping or working or even driving TO her job.
Things there are chaos right now, due to a big remodelling job. Nobody can find anything. Lots of equipment doesn't work properly. People can't get where they're trying to go, or do what they're trying to do.
So they page her.
When she's at work, other departments haven't finished their tasks, so the unfinished stuff falls on her to handle. Department heads come to her at the last, possible minute to ask her to fill in or take over stuff others should have been assigned.
Last night, she came home exhausted, after only four hours of work there. She was angry, frustrated, burned out and bitter.
I had tested our broken washing machine. It hadn't been spinning. So, in order to do laundry, I've been agitating clothes and then lowering the discharge hose, so they'd drain and letting them drip until they were dry enough to agitate in rinse. It was exhausting.
Laundry's been piling up. She'd talked of going to the laundromat down the street, but there's never time. When she gets home, she has her computer to set up, a printer to clean and adjust, stuff she still hasn't had time to unpack, email to answer...and that damned pager to attend.
The other day, she couldn't ride her bike to work, because she's run out of clean bicycle pants.
We'd agreed to go scratch-&-dent washer shopping yesterday evening, when she got off work.
We'd spent the morning shopping used furniture stores so she has some shelves and cabinets to unpack her things and store them. We got everything set up in her room and she unpacked a lot of stuff.
It's been hard on her, having most of what she owns in boxes for over a month.
We stopped at her old apartment. The landlord wanted to refund her deposit. He's selling some furniture and appliances. I'd said, if he sells that old dresser on legs, the one with the mirror, offer him twenty-five for it, but don't pay more than fifty. She offered him thirty; he took fifty. He also had a small, upright freezer. I'd have offered fifty, but he said eighty. We didn't argue; she gave him ninety on both, the rest to be paid on delivery. later this week or early next.
I took her to work. When I picked her up, she was insane. She goes in to her "work mode," and I have hell to pay to get her to relax and just enjoy being home. She worries over details, calendars, deadlines, schedules... and she transfers that worry to our home. Suddenly, every detail of the operation of our home and our lives is under scrutiny, criticized, found wanting.
She hates chaos and unpredictability. She needs order. She wants solutions and predictable outcomes.
I can understand, but life isn't like that.
So, anyway, I decided to wash 2 loads of her work clothes in that funky washer.
Lo and behold, the washer went through two loads of laundry perfectly. It spun. It didn't overheat and shut off.
I know I must elevate the washer onto a pallet. I've been collecting them for the chicken coop. The washer has no feet. It can't bounce on springed feet when it spins, so the "tilt" switch shuts it off. ANd the spindle to the drum extends down and rubs on the concrete pad on which the washer stands.
I think I just did so many loads when we first moved in, I overheated its pump and spin motors.
If I'm nice to it, it'll be nice to me.
So, she has clean work clothes; we didn't need to buy a washer; we didn't go to the laundromat.
I sat and listened to her analyse the problems at work. I offered her ideas and suggestions. I sympathised; I know those people and how that system disfunctions.
I fed her "rubbed" porkchops and my special baked beans. I fried an old banana in bean flour, sesame & flax seeds and millit.
She ate a slice of my sugarless, flourless cheese cake.
She fell into her bed, lifeless.
In October, there's a big project that will demand all her attention.
And she must tie up loose ends and prepare them for the fact that, mid November, she disappears for two or three months.
When she returns, she'll work full time and also take classes at the university.
I'll never see her again. She'll be tired and occupied all the time.
So, I'm diligently preparing our space.
I'm building the chicken coop. I'm unpacking, not only my stuff but hers. I'm doing most of the cleaning and maintanance of the house. I'm preparing the gardens and planning for the animals.
I haven't even unpacked the computer I use to do radio. My studio languishes, while I kill myself with heavy construction, hauling materials, doing heavy housework.
I fall. I drop things on my feet. Stuff falls off ladders onto my head: heavy staple guns, hammers, etc.
My legs hurt fiercely. My shoes are bad for ladders and heavy lifting.
But, every day, I work and work and work.
I'll be alone in here for three months. I'll have her car, but don't plan to use it much, without a license.
I'll have all that time to produce radio.
In the mean time, I'm keeping her bandaged, fed and clothed.
And working my butt off to make a home and work place for us.
I'm afraid my typing here just woke her; she just got up to use the restroom at 5:30am. She'll probably stay up. That'll make today a long one for her.
I've got to put up the new, folding door we bought at Home Depot. It covers the arch between her room and this living room, where I'm typing. I already painted her side pink: her favorite color. The side that'll face the living room will have Chinese murals on it; I'll paint them myself.` She already fixed the printer we bought at a yard sale, so I can print the murals from the internet to copy onto the door.
She needs a door. I need her to have a door, too. Light and sound from in here wake her. That ain't cool.
But, her clothes are clean; I've gotten in plenty of groceries; she has enough furniture now, for which she paid less than $200, incl. the new freezer.
I'm taking today to edit a Radio Theatre piece and to declutter this place and clean the floors.
I didn't mean to turn into a wife, honest. But someone's got to do it.
She's going back to bed now, thank gawd.
Nope. here she i
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