notes from the laundromat 3/14
today is thursday which means it’s been a week and a half since i’ve done laundry. two big sacks today, taking up 4 (small) washers. this weekend i was in upstate ny for a babyshower, and when i got home on monday afternoon it was either chores or book revisions. when needing to triage my plans, art (+ family) always come first.
today i have off work, using comp time from an event. i sit by the laundromat’s open door, and the air is warm, comfortable, finally. tonight francis and i are getting dinner, then attending an info session for a birth center we think we’d like to use if/ when i get pregnant. it’s exciting, dreaming into this next stage of our life together, chosing to expand our family. and i really do trust him, with the big things. just this morning i was editing a section of my book where i write about the trash-filled room we moved into at 22 in schenectady. how soon after the move, after being out all day, i came home to find he’d cleared out all the junk, brought in a nice wooden dresser, and folded our crumpled clothes. he made our destroyed room our home.
sometimes im more of the “man” in our relationship—in a not-great way. in the way where i don’t clean as often or water the plants or bother with cooking anything beyond beans and roasted vegetables. yes im doing the laundry right now, but i also decided to make it about art, as if carework weren’t enough. some small part of me still believes my aversion to certain forms of care is feminist. like, fuck you grandpa for saying id only ever be a wife or waitress, i’m actually a heartless slob, how’s THAT?
[distracted for a long stretch by a man wearing sunglasses, stomping around, kicking washing machines, muttering curses under his breath, occasionally screaming “SHIT!”]
our upstairs neighbor has been smoking nonstop. the smell seeps into our apartment & we are, indeed, breathing in second-hand smoke. we’ve tried talking to him, i’ve left notes on his door, ive been carting around my tiny pathetic air purifyer. my tolerance has reached its limit, and it’s all i can do not to spiral, to imagine harm to myself & my yet-to-be-conceived baby. fran and i are going to talk about what to do, but last night as i freaked he said, “we’ll figure it out. and if you aren’t able to help i’ll take care of it myself. do you trust me?” so grateful for his care as i figure out how to be as generous.