Housework
The interminable saga of the tip that is his bedroom: he decided a few weeks ago to dispense with the double bed (formerly our double bed) and put a single bed in his room. Notionally this was about creating more space in his room for tidying up. My suspicion would always have been that for him this space is as a handbag is to a woman. Space to be filled.
Yesterday and somewhat to my surprise he actually did dismantle and dispose of the old bed and put up the new one. He even made it, by which I mean he put a couple of sheets on it as well as a duvet with a cover and added a couple of covered pillows. Which just goes to show that he does know how to make a bed. Not well done, granted but made nevertheless.
He did this during the afternoon/evening while I was at work. I found out about it only when he came to my office to ask for the key to the dumpster. This is the enormous rubbish receptacle into which we place everything for compacting and carting away by a contractor. He'd not managed to finish the job in time to dispose of the remains of the bed at the municipal tip and so wanted to off-load it onto us. When he came back with the key he confessed that he'd not actually been able to fit the bed in completely.
He promised that he'd get in early and fix the problem, which is to say have another go at getting the damned thing further in or at least covering it with a sufficient amount of the sort of stuff that's supposed to be in the dumpster to disguise the presence of a rogue double bed.
So I wasn't expecting to find him still getting ready for work at 7:20 am this morning, which is about an hour and twenty minutes after he's supposed to be there and quite a bit after he'd need to get there to do a bit of surreptitious rubbish burying.
If the proverbial hits the fan over this I won't be in the least surprised. If he's threatened with dismissal over this I'd have to admit to being able to see the boss's point. That latter outcome is unlikely but only because we're shedding staff like nobody's business at present and he's as close to indispensable as a person can be right now. In the short term we really would struggle to cover his hours and duties.
So we've trouble looming on that front and meanwhile back in the battle zone that is his pigsty bedroom, we're making progress like the allies made progress on the Somme. We measure advances in inches. The fact that I can see the floor only means I can see more clearly how filthy it is. The mounds of clothes are there, the drawers of the chest are all open and overflowing and it is all to clear that the drawers are largely full of things other than his clothes (which are all over the floor). The wardrobe is so full it can't be closed and meanwhile he has several shirts hanging from the curtain pole and underwear draped over the radiator (presumably to dry).
A couple of glasses are still on the side table, the contents reduced by the passage of time to a dried crust. Loose change lies everywhere, among the clothes, the books, the CDs, the gadgets, the scraps of paper, the food/cigarette wrappers and so forth. I could go on (and on and on) but I can't be bothered.
Yesterday and somewhat to my surprise he actually did dismantle and dispose of the old bed and put up the new one. He even made it, by which I mean he put a couple of sheets on it as well as a duvet with a cover and added a couple of covered pillows. Which just goes to show that he does know how to make a bed. Not well done, granted but made nevertheless.
He did this during the afternoon/evening while I was at work. I found out about it only when he came to my office to ask for the key to the dumpster. This is the enormous rubbish receptacle into which we place everything for compacting and carting away by a contractor. He'd not managed to finish the job in time to dispose of the remains of the bed at the municipal tip and so wanted to off-load it onto us. When he came back with the key he confessed that he'd not actually been able to fit the bed in completely.
He promised that he'd get in early and fix the problem, which is to say have another go at getting the damned thing further in or at least covering it with a sufficient amount of the sort of stuff that's supposed to be in the dumpster to disguise the presence of a rogue double bed.
So I wasn't expecting to find him still getting ready for work at 7:20 am this morning, which is about an hour and twenty minutes after he's supposed to be there and quite a bit after he'd need to get there to do a bit of surreptitious rubbish burying.
If the proverbial hits the fan over this I won't be in the least surprised. If he's threatened with dismissal over this I'd have to admit to being able to see the boss's point. That latter outcome is unlikely but only because we're shedding staff like nobody's business at present and he's as close to indispensable as a person can be right now. In the short term we really would struggle to cover his hours and duties.
So we've trouble looming on that front and meanwhile back in the battle zone that is his pigsty bedroom, we're making progress like the allies made progress on the Somme. We measure advances in inches. The fact that I can see the floor only means I can see more clearly how filthy it is. The mounds of clothes are there, the drawers of the chest are all open and overflowing and it is all to clear that the drawers are largely full of things other than his clothes (which are all over the floor). The wardrobe is so full it can't be closed and meanwhile he has several shirts hanging from the curtain pole and underwear draped over the radiator (presumably to dry).
A couple of glasses are still on the side table, the contents reduced by the passage of time to a dried crust. Loose change lies everywhere, among the clothes, the books, the CDs, the gadgets, the scraps of paper, the food/cigarette wrappers and so forth. I could go on (and on and on) but I can't be bothered.
posted by Enyo @ 10:03 am
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