I just got off the phone with Lipman and I've realized that, as much as I try to deny it, I've got some issues.
Most of them are ones that I'm aware of, but don't try to correct because I'm so damn stubborn.
The one that's giving us the most trouble right now is my cleaning habits. Here's the deal. I don't clean. I don't like to clean. I do not get any enjoyment from cleaning. I do like living in a clean apartment, but, frankly, if it means that I'm going to have to put in any effort in making it that way, I'm perfectly content living in piles and piles of organziaed clutter. I'm sure it has some sort of affect on my morale, but I don't really notice it until the mess gets to a level that I am not comfortable with. Then, if I so choose, I clean. In an Obsessive Compulsive sort of way. I scrub. I dust. I wax. I de-rust. I fucking clean the place.... because I know that it'll be sometime before I'm gonna go through that sort of process again.
What sucks about this, though, is when your boyfriend is quite the opposite. He hangs his clothes up the minute he gets home. He will not go to bed if there is a dish in the sink. He will actually pick up your stuff for the sake of his sanity.
And I hate it.
Because it makes me feel guilty. I get defensive and bitchy and automatically assume that he's making some sort of judgement about the way I choose to live because I don't mind that a bowel I ate a piece of pie out of will most likely become harder to clean because I don't SOS it right away. I get pissed off when he asks, "Ba-abe, where do you want me to put these pair of pants? In the closet?" And yeah, he says that he doesn't mind, but what the fuck? How could you NOT mind picking up after someone?!?
I think what it is is territorial. It's a control issue.
It's my apartment.
I keep it the way I want.
Leave the 4 day old panties on the floor. I want them to be there.
"You're very childish when it comes to cleaning. It's rather neurotic, I think."
Wha-? Neurotic? Nu-uh. I just don't like to clean.
So, after a very awkward conversation on the phone, I thought about why I have this aversion to cleaning.
And I think it's my parents fault. *GASP* Yeah. I know. That's so cliche'. But let me explain.
My Dad is a clean guy. The garage has stencils of where all of his tools live. His nightstand has four different compartments in it: one for holding chapsticks, another for change, another for his wallet, and another for misc. items such as dental floss. The lawn is perfectly manicured. The wives he's had have all been very clean individuals. (I've mentioned his second wife, Spic N' Span, haven't I?...) Anywhoo. I remember resenting the fact that I could not do anything fun until I cleaned. I couldn't watch TV. I couldn't go outside and play. I couldn't play Nintendo. I had a regiment that I had to follow before I got to do anything remotely fun at his house. There was even a calandar that tracked if we had all of our stuff done on a daily basis. And I hated it.
Now, my Mom was the same way. She would set standards as far as not being able to participate in Life activities unless certain chores were done. However, Mom was not a fan of cleaning either. She would have to do chores as well on the weekends. You had to clean the living room? Mom would be in the kitchen mopping and waxing.. You had to clean your bedroom? Look out for the laundry that Mom had stacked in the hallway... And what was cool about Mom is that she knew when to quit. She knew when the day was too beautiful to be inside sniffing Pledge and spreading carpet freshner.
Dad knew it too. But Dad was always clean. So he didn't have a problem with hitting golf balls in the yard while you were inside having to organize your damn sock drawer. Again.
I also think that it's genetic. I think there's something in my DNA that makes me not like cleaning. I have a picture hanging in my living room. It's of my maternal Grandfather's childhood home. The house is only half painted. There's laundry hanging on the line. The yard is a bunch of dead grass. But it's still a very happy looking home, nonetheless. I asked my Mom once why the house was only half painted. She told me, "Well, Poppy and Uncle Ed were in the middle of painting it when a neighbor invited them to play baseball. So they went and played baseball instead."
See? What did I tell you? It's in MY DNA!
But let's get really analytical and comma friendly. Let's really get Freud on this issue. I probably have some resentment against my father and his anal wives, and, as a child, the only way to vent my frustration, since I was such a damn pleaser, was probably not to clean. It was a way that I had control around my immeadiate world. It was a way to show my Dad that he could do whatever he damn well wanted with his life, but I'm not going to organize my damn sock drawer. Some girls puke their guts out to feel control over themselves. Some girls sleep around to feel powerful. Me? I just don't put my towel on the towel rack. That's not too shabby, in my opinon.
So when I get mad at Lipman for cleaning or for passively asking me to clean, it is my anger at him for trying to control me. In my space. In a space that I am being very selfish over because... well, it's mine, so there... Now, why am I being so selfish? Maybe it's because I don't get to be selfish in other aspects of my life. I don't get to do theater as often as I like. I am tied to the power of The MAN. So, perhaps my retaliation is to not conform to The MAN's clean ways. It may also be my way of showing Lipman that, although I love him with all my heart, he doesn't have any power over me. Take that Mr.-Hang-Your-Pants-Up-When-You-Get-Home!
What the fuck is up with that? Why do I apparently feel this way? Lipman knows he doesn't have power of me and I know that I don't have power over Lipman- so why the hell have I turned this into a power play?
Hm. Hm hm hm hm hm hm hmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I'm scared that I'll turn into some sort of person that I don't want to be if I give into the ways of The Man and Lipman. Maybe I think that a part of me will die if I start making an effort around the house. Maybe I fear change.
Maybe I need to just realize that I'm being stubborn. Or maybe I don't.
Dammit. I haven't resolved anything!
CURSED NON-LINEAR RANT! YOU HAVE FAILED ME! Boo.