An ever-growing honey-do list was the true source of frustration. But trying not to let my frustrations rule my emotions or life in general, left me hanging on this tight rope dance between childish out bursts and adult responsibility. It would have been nice to have at the least some discussion on the matter first. That way requests being made would have had at the least an appearance of being less demanding by nature. Besides communication is the key or so I was always told? So what happened? Perhaps an inquiry as to what other responsibilities we had or what time commitments had been promise already and now just needing to be fulfilled? Either way it would have at the least given an appearance of working together instead of a king subject kind of relationship.
It isn’t a bad thing to have a priority’s list. In fact to prioritize things in such a way according to approximate length of times needed in doing them, provides the best over views to realistic success towards completion. In this case the presentation was all wrong. It wasn’t the jobs, but the list itself. The list seemed to have an ever-growing nature all by itself. What at first appeared to be just a few things quickly turned into a cockroach orgy of multiplication. The list itself was signal handedly responsible for deforestation. I’m sure the trees were cringing in fear just from the extra paper demands. It grew out of thin air like an alien pregnancy. Much in the same way as in those “Alien’s” horror movies, but this time it was birthing a monster dead set in taking a life of its own by consuming what was left of mine.
It truly is hard to look back once you have been locked in. So the struggle between the list and me seemed to be a matter of survival; or a struggle for survival of leisure time and personal freedom, and the ability to control a sliver of one’s own purpose, destiny, and fate in the most responsible way.
Taking a big red marker to a completed chore seemed only to fertilize it. Two or three more things appeared on the list written by unseen hands. Because of all my minds influences from horror movies they gave me a vivid picture of what was to come. This tumor, this cancer needed radical surgery. But killing the beast isn’t always as easy as a match to gasoline. What this out of control list needed was a surgical scalpel like position to expose the alien. Then a complete thrashing by Tony Soprano’s crew with baseball bats, followed by an acid bath or some such…
The nerves started to show signs of fraying. An ever-growing annoyance from that “Voice” calling up to me from downstairs placed me on edge; psychologically it was bring me closer to a breaking point during my feeble attempts to express myself in words within my last express memoirs. I’d rather be writing emotions down than taking to violent reactions against the list monster creator. Just another 5 minutes alone in the man cave and I’ll be finished, ready to do battle with bane of my existence.
“Are you going to wake-up some time to help?” The voice again called but I didn’t reply hoping to hideout a bit longer. I was starting to realize that women and men were indeed different. That book “men are from mars” and “women are venomous!” was just a historical account of my present life in book form. Just a bit longer please? I told myself as my fingers were typing as fast as I could think. But that constant calling wasn’t helping. With each call it was causing me to jump a bit like a little boy trying to steal cookies from the cookie jar, but pulling back his hand quickly with each little noise heard.
This whole ordeal was just causing me to rethink things about life. I wasn’t even married and this was the road we were going down already?
The door exploded open. My heart stopped momentarily, the walls of the man cave were breached and the creator God of the list monster stood in
the light. I felt small, the fear of doom; I tried to speak to offer some resistance verbally, it was as if the list’s papery fingers were clinching down on my neck ready to squeeze the life out of me. I couldn’t even offer some small response in defense like a whimper; instead I wanted to run, struggle a bit and then run away, just for a good combative showing so not to look like cowered. I couldn’t even fight for my rights, but was petrified frozen in time.
“I want you to clean up this pigsty. Remove those socks from the light and put them in the hamper.”
“No! Not the sock chandelier! It takes skill to toss socks off my feet to have then have them land perfectly, in such a presentation act of art.” I responded still in disbelief to the man cave breached defenses. Are there no more boundaries or heroes left to defend the castle?
“I mean it! Clean this mess up and quickly take out the trash on your way downstairs. We have to leave for practice in 10 minutes. I mean it Mr. 10 minutes!”
Stunned and perplexed, maybe an effect of some alien’s kind of venom or something? I felt powerless to put up any resistance, other than a soft half whispered, “OK Mom.”