Who cares? Well, somebody has got to.
As my husband raced out of the house to an important meeting, he looked at me apologetically and said, I’m sorry to leave you to deal with all the waste products.
Once the vomit was flushed away and the cat’s wee expunged, I returned to the kitchen which looked like 15 students had moved in. It was too much, but the front room offered no refuge either as it was still full of the debris from a weekend away which arrived home with us late on Sunday night.
By this time, I’m jibbering with the return of that deep-seated fear of the truth about my life … It’s just an endless stream of clearing up the mess …. not just vomit and wee, but all the other stuff … food, dishes, clothes and then all rest of it too ….punctures, blocked gutters, lost school blazers, rogue credit card bills, a neighbour in distress, insurance claims, faulty products, vets, orthodontists, angry headteachers …. The truth is my life is being used up by a constant stream of very small and very tedious demands.
And I am becoming paralysed by the repetitive round of trivia banging at the door.
My role seems to be to keep others’ lives on track. But it is abudantly clear that my own life is not on track and after years of caring in various guises I’m mystified how I even work out what track I should be on. I love my husband and my children, I even love my friends and neighbours. Helping them all is an important and necessary job. Clearing up mess is an important job. But I just don’t want to do it any more. I don’t want to be the carer any more. I’ve done my shift. There’s an “e” missing in my life.
Carer needs to turn into career pretty damn quick if we are to avoid catastrophe.
Clearly as a carer, I had a best before date, and I seem to be well past it now. Oops. Time to break the news to everybody that I’m resigning. But frankly, who cares?