Writing what they won't like and Project 333
Good thing I didn't get rid of some of the boxes that I had only unpacked just last year. Little did I know that once again I would possibly be moving—really haven't even cleaned the place that much. I suppose that is a good thing—I use to clean house every week. Now there is dust here and dust there and I sort of laugh—so unlike me only a year before. Always trying to be the "good wife," whatever that means. To the people I was involved with, it meant always have a dust free home. Learning to keep things always dusted was one supreme goal of being the "good wife."
Guess she has other things to do now—cause it is pretty dusty here now. Knowing they would not approve makes me laugh all the more. Having learned the people who come along with your marriage can grade you on your wife duties. I would not think I would have cared, but for some reason dust and being the good "housewife" became one of those things I ended up caring a lot about.
It is true that I did not go to college to care about dust, but after becoming the "wife," it seems it was one of those things that I had to think about quite frequently. Sitting here now, I can see the grey lines that are left; taunting me about not being that kind of woman anymore. You know—the not so good kind, the one who just doesn't care about her home, the one not having it all together, the not good wife—gasp, the bad wife.
I remember the instructions when I was first married about dusting. "Make sure you move the dust mop in the corners." Well, I thought where did this come from? A man concerned about dusting—kind of cute. One of those modern types who has dusted and knows a thing or two about the dust mop. Having lived a life on the go and busy career I had no clue about the serious dust mop business—didn't even own one—but now this was part of my new life. Dusting each weekend became the new me. I took to my tasks with joy and gratitude that I was learning to be the good kind of "wife." We know how this is going to go; after years of being the good wife, she sits here laughing about the dust on the desk as she writes about the bad woman she is now.
They won't like what you write—I read. I know I sometimes won't like what I write either, but I look at who I was and what I was forced to leave behind and only now am I beginning to understand that I should have been a bad wife more often.
Let the dishes pile up, have sex more often, let the laundry go, travel to new places—stop the fucking dusting.
I have begun to embrace Project 333. You basically get only 33 items of clothing as a way to embrace Minimalism. I would give it a try, I was sorting the old me from the new me and wanted to become and leave behind so much I had held onto to. I was always good at doing more with less.
I was one of those DIY types—joyfully embracing my simplicity and denying myself the pleasures of life to become the "good wife" who denied herself. I still like simplicity, but know that giving up the pleasures of living is no road to happiness. The pleasures might not be material, but can be spiritual and emotional. Sharing a beautiful meal, taking a walk with a friend or enjoying a sunset. Slowing down long enough to stop and enjoy; rather than the constant chores and treadmill of life.
I had shoes from twenty years ago. My goodness what a good wife to save so many old shoes. Only now can I laugh and give them away for a couple of pairs that I love and want to wear to some pleasurable event that nurtures my soul and does not involve dusting. Writing what they don't like has become a way to reconnect with the person I let go of to be that "good wife." Laughing that she looks forward to being somewhere pleasurable that doesn't involve dusting.