The house has needs which rival those of a toddler. The house requires endless, undivided attention. There is never a moment when everything is done and remains so. You may think you've finally done ALL the washing, but that only lasts a maximum of 12 hours. You are never done with the washing - never ever. It's enough to make one move to a nudist colony if only to free oneself from the sickening burden of dirty laundry. The same applies to the dishes - I feel like my dishwasher is on all day long. If only I could apply the nudist colony principle to this and simply not eat... but that would merely reduce the dishes by a third and the other two-thirds would still have to be done... by ME. When the laundry and the dishes are done, there's the general MESS of toys and bits of fruit and endless stickers and magnets and tiny cars which seem to inhabit every spare nook and cranny of my house. I now live in a small regional branch of Toys 'R Us only without the staff to stack and arrange the shelves.
While I do all of this, I'm overwhelmed with guilt that I SHOULD be going to the gym, I SHOULD be getting to that writing that I promised myself I would commit to, I SHOULD be doing the work I'm neglecting from my part-time job... So, even when I do manage to do all the house stuff, I'm still not done... because I'm failing at the rest of my life. Invariable the things I'm neglecting to do are the things which actually fulfil me... the things I do for myself.
I marvel at the women who make it seem possible. I don't know how they do it. Is it practice or is it something one is born to do? See for me, this is unintentional. I don't want to be a housewife.