Entrepreneur: "Yeah, an important rule of dating is to not muzzle-sweep your girlfriend."

Warning: Not A Cheerful Post

(EVERYTHING IS FINE, MOM.)

But! Some days we must take a moment to reflect on interesting things, and interesting things are not always bright and sunshiny. And so I share with you the following, a passage from Clarissa Pinkola Estes' WOMEN WHO RUN WITH THE WOLVES:

"“Her idea of a really good time was to board the train to Chicago and wear a big hat, and walk down Michigan Avenue looking in all the shop windows and being an elegant lady. By hook or by crook or by fate, she married a farmer. They moved out into the midst of the wheatlands, and she began to rot away in that elegant little farmhouse that was just the right size, with all the right children, and all the right husband. She had no more time for that ‘frivolous’ life she’d once led. Too much ‘kids.’ Too much ‘woman’s work.’ One day, years later, after washing the kitchen and living room floors by hand, she slipped into her very best silk blouse, buttoned her long skirt, and pinned on her big hat. She pressed her husband’s shotgun to the roof of her mouth and pulled the trigger. Every woman alive knows why she washed the floors first. A starved soul can become so filled with pain, a woman can no longer bear it.”"

I found this via the always amazing Ask Metafilter, because I was looking for--no, not ways to kill myself, Lordy!--but because I was looking for the best MOP.

And the Ask Metafilter discussion continues:

Another responder: "While it doesn't quite fit your description, being a play and all, it also sound quite similar to Marsha Norman's Night, Mother, where jessie makes sure everything in the house is settled before committing suicide."

And yet another responder: "Also, it's the opening scene of the pilot to the TV series DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES."

And yet one more: "Although the character is male, that's also the opening scene of the film Wristcutters: A Love Story."

And finally: "I recently read the same thing in an article about an elderly woman who legally (in her country, with medical supervision) killed herself. Her son told her, Mother, you don't need to bother with that. But she had some powerful inner need to get everything cleaned up before she departed."

And finally, the original poster:

"Thanks, all! I had no idea that 'Woman cleans, then woman kills herself' was such a commonly repeated theme in literature. Or life. This has been both enlightening, and a little depressing. I suggest that we all let those floors go for awhile! :)"

And, as often, I think the hive mind has churned out some good advice, here. I do in fact suggest we all let those floors go for awhile. 

ONE MONTH LATER...

Entrepreneur and I have had a crowded month. Many, many, things, have happened.

Coming home some time in the past month, I said to him, "I feel like I work my fingers to the bone all fucking day and I get to the end of the day and I'm exhausted, and yet I have accomplished only one-quarter of the things I needed to."

"RIGHT?" he said. "Where the hell does the time GO?"

For example, we got to the end of July and I was saying, "Remember when I spent three weeks practically bedridden?" And he said, "Yeah, that seems like yesterday."

"That practically WAS yesterday," I said. "That was in July. And we're STILL IN JULY."

The look he gave me was priceless. The man has an even rockier relationship with time than I do. It's precious.

And now, here we are, at the end of August, and I just realized it's only been eleven days since we reclaimed the Loft. It seems like three weeks, because we want to get so much done and we can't seem to GET it done, but it's only been eleven days and perhaps it was unrealistic to expect a gimp on full social disability and an overly-driven yuppie who works 10 hours a day and commutes at least an hour and a half on top of that and who isn't in great physical shape either to completely revamp a bathroom and kitchen in eleven days. I mean, maybe.