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This Minor Gripe Is A Microcosm Of My Life

If anyone should read this, please understand that yes, I know, this is minor. That is the point entirely.

Let me give a brief description of my living situation for anyone who may not know. I've been living for two and a half years with a married couple, both men, their dogs, my cat, and over the course of the past two years, a combination of three other tenants. I've also experienced periods of time when it felt as if their young grandkids lived here more than some of the tenants. That actually was a pleasure. One must also understand that I pay more than the other tenants, due to a slightly larger bedroom. After a little more than a year, they bought a new house, and to my surprise, they offered me a room in this one. I much prefer the old one, but personal preference is not my complaint. To my bigger surprise, when we moved, a change occurred. To the two self-diagnosed sufferers of OCD appeared to lose all desire to clean; anything! The last time I saw them clean was April 1st.....2018. Now while the excuse could be used that I am home more than they, it is in fact, not only my right to have them do this, but also their legal obligation to do so. They clean, never! I am essentially the only one who empties the dishwasher, cleans the counters, sweeps, cleans the bathrooms, washes hand towels and kitchen towels, vacuums, sweeps, etc. I also take out the garbage and recycling most of the time, which is where we get to this morning.

Yesterday, the garbage was near full as dawn broke. I added a banana peel to it and they came downstairs to start their day. One of them went to throw something out, realized the swing top would not push all the way in, lifted the top and pressed the dirty item down, making minimal room, if any. During lunch, some onions skins I threw out were easily accepted by the receptacle and I thought nothing of it. My one landlord, the same one who threw an item in during the morning hours came home and added. I even heard him mutter about having to take this out. He then watched as another tenant added more. Then he sat on the couch for well over four hours, staring at his phone. A third tenant, who happened to be moving out, added to the waste, so much so that she could not put the lid on tightly. She left and that was how it stayed. I wondered how, after six months, she'd not once taken a single bag to the trash or recycling. I wondered how she never thought to start or empty the dishwasher.

Before bed, I left it, knowing the third, much younger tenant would most likely come home and make something to eat or, at even more likely, bring home some bag of fast food. He did cook, and actually finished a carton of 24 eggs. I knew he had eggs because he tends to boil them to the point the sulfur smelling water spills over, the shells crack, and the kitchen is filled with that odiferous stench. That, coupled with the shells in the sink, allowed me to know before opening the trash. I looked at the bin, lid crooked, about to fall and then lifted it. Somehow he had managed to pack in the carton, a can which he somehow does not know is recycling and to my surprise no shells. Where did the rest go? Down the drain? I was not angry at him, because, after five-plus months, he's not once cleaned up after himself, viewing his 19-year-old age as a reason to believe his mother or father mysteriously creeps in and cleans his mess, then vanishes without a trace. No, I was upset with my landlords, who never seem to do anything, but even worse, never acknowledge when someone else does. I pulled the bag, took it to the trash, where I found the lid to the larger bin in the garage off, flies swarming the days' old bag that was already in there. I threw in the bag, found the lid and covered it, while styrofoam and paper they'd piled atop fell to the ground. I gathered that and put it back, assuming they have a special place for this since they took it out. I returned inside, wiped down the bin, then returned the lid. Sigh!

I realize this long story tells a moment in life that took about 45 seconds in its entirety, but it's the repetitive nature of these types of things that have grown on me like some parasitic moss, not hurting, but changing who I am. It's the fact that this is done because it has to be done and I do it; always. I do this at home and at work, occasionally receiving the mock surprise "Did you do this?" followed by some half-hearted acknowledgment. This gripe is not about money and in reality, it isn't about acknowledgment. I have learned that people will allow you to do until you stop, then these same people will be the very first to question why you have ceased. No, the real gripe is the feeling as if I'm living my life for other's benefit, yet when I pause to want for myself, I'm viewed as selfish or disrespectful. I think the thing that hurts me most is how much I see this behavior work. Whether it be at home, work, or out in the real world, selfishness and laziness does not breed failure as those who preach "Hard work is the key to success" would have you believe. No, getting others to do all the minuscule things, without thanks or gratitude, sets them on a path to allow others to carry them through life. I assume, deep in my psyche there is some envy, but I continue to do for others, knowing the burden grows with the number of additional things I am assumed to take on, no questions asked, because it's what I do. The garbage is out, the dogs will be fed (I get minimal money for this), their area cleaned, they will come outside, which they only do with me, I will clean the counters before they come home, the dishes will be away, and the bins will be empty. The linens will be washed, the house will be cool, and they will come home, look, see it as it was when they left, whether this is true or not, then go to sleep. Bliss.

I will be moving in 30 days and have yet to find a place and all that you've read, if you made it this far, is all in my head and creating massive amounts of anxiety for me. What if I can't find a place for just me? What if I must share common places again? What if it's worse? All bring about a tightness, but not so much as the thought,

What if I can't find a place?
I'd gladly take out the trash, no questions asked. I'd even pay to do it.

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