Sunday, 28 April 2013

Help.

I can not do a vast number of household chores in one day or even a week because of my stupid health problems. I do what I can when I can, and I never feel it is enough. There is always something to do and I am not always able to it. Some days, I feel I can do a lot more than others; the "other" days might involve me laying on the sofa unable to move. I never know. It's like Ovarian Bingo.

This is a very personal insight to how I see things in my home. My parents both have their own health problems - Mum's cancer bother and treatment, and Dad's agonising arthritic hip and back, for just a start. I don't happen to think doing all you are able to help the people who have done, and continue to do, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g they can for you is unreasonable. But what do I know?

NaPoWriMo 2013 - day 28, part bjtvggshb... I don't know...

Before we had a dishwasher,
I washed up the cups and pans,
And the plates and cutlery,
Monotonously cleaning by hand
Your crumbs and coffee stains,
The grease and the grime,
From your unhealthy foodstuffs,
Not my chosen way to spend my time.

I'm often hunched over the worktops,
Such heavy aches in my back,
But you never bother to ask how I am,
Lest you think about others - imagine that!
You see me stop in the kitchen,
Frozen, breathing heavily through my pain,
And, instead of filling my hot water bottle for me,
You simply sigh and complain
Because I'm in the way of the kettle
And you can't make your coffee
Or I'm selfish about the water
Because I'd filled it up for me.
I hoped the heat may help me relax
After walking up, then down, the stairs,
To fetch another load of washing
Before taking tablets to ease these pains I can't bear.

You most often see me sitting down,
So you seem to assume it's all I do,
But never seem to consider Mum's not alone in
Keeping the home free from the smell of cat poo
Or dirty floors, or limescale-free taps
So I must only ever eat codeine and sleep,
Despite every day SEEING me do housework,
The fatigue in me runs so painfully deep.

The clothes in the ironing pile,
Some more wrinkled than others,
But all must be pressed, and, invariably, it is I
Who stands for hours because you never bother
To offer to iron even only your own clothes
Because it "doesn't matter" if they are not done,
But if I don't do it, the only other person who can
Is the one who suffers enough already - our Mum.

Cleaning has to be done,
Things must always be cleaned,
Including windows and sinks,
Something you still don't seem to glean.
Cleaning your car does not count,
Huffing and puffing never occur
When the buckets and sponges make their appearances,
Why do you so rarely think of Mum? Think of HER.

The recyclable card and plastics
Must be washed and sorted.
They don't magically clean themselves
Have you never had a moment when you thought if
You did that something or other,
Which always seems hard work
You might save your mother some stress,
Rather than just walk on by? It is the behaviour of a berk.
After I've dusted the surfaces
And vacuumed the carpets,
I feel so achy and heavy,
And I've only just started!

Why must you wait to be asked
Before lending your reluctant hand?
Why will you not just offer to help?
Grow the fuck up and be a better man.

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