I feel like I’m rather wasting an opportunity to be recording a major event in world history but I just can’t seem to summon up the words most days.
Yesterday Indy M messaged me asking if I’d keep her company while they moved. They would have fewer than 10 people to stay within the guidelines (today a stay at home order was announced, but yesterday the 10 person guideline was still in effect). I made sure she understood I was high risk of being a carrier now thanks to working in a grocery store, but as her husband works in a high risk profession as well, she wasn’t concerned.
M and her husband had cooked up a delicious breakfast for the people helping, all of whom seemed nice and friendly and happy to be there in spite of the risks. I ended up spending 12 hours there, and I helped M prepare supper, which was also delicious. Over supper the people still there chatted and I found out B, the elderly man sitting next to me, had worked where I’m working now a few years back. He had good things to say about it and mentioned a handful of names I recognized.
My next shift is Tuesday. I only have 18 hours this week, which I’m hoping is because they already had the schedule written and had to pencil me in. I want as many hours as I can get right now.
Yesterday, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. When I got back (having been gone for 12 hours) my husband asked if I’d “gone for a walk” and I just gave him a look. I then got a whispered, angry lecture about how if I wasn’t going to care about his feelings I should at least care about the kids’ feelings and that he was tired of having to tell them he didn’t know where I was. As he was walking away, I’m pretty sure he muttered some threat about how I’d only have myself to blame for how things went in the future.
(Please note, I’ve told them I don’t know where he is because he hasn’t told me, and I had explicitly said we didn’t have to tell each other where we went. We have, in fact, been broken up for 6 months now and it’s creepy to want your ex to tell you where they’re going.)
This morning I wandered out and found the kettle whisting on the stove because my husband was on a call and couldn’t get to it. I took care of it and wrote a note on my phone to show my husband so he could clarify if he wanted the French press full or half full. I then went about my day, which included laundering my work shirts for tomorrow’s shift.
There was a load in the dryer, which I removed, and a load in the washer, which I sniffed. I thought it seemed a little musty, but it was my husband’s clothing so I called him in to provide a second opinion. Since he was in there already I mentioned he could just move them to the dryer if he thought they smelled okay, otherwise we could wash the load again. I then needed to use the bathroom and left the area. When I came back to put my load of laundry in the washer, my husband showed up at the door of the laundry room visibly angry.
He wanted to know if I would have moved his laundry to the dryer myself. Apparently he thought I’d just executed some plot to force him to take care of it himself. I’m pretty sure my eyebrows nearly shot off my face. Yes, manipulating him into putting his own clothing into the dryer is how I spend my time. I’m obviously unwilling to do even the slightest thing for him, as evidenced by my helping him with his coffee this morning.
At this rate, I’m expecting to sneeze and be angrily accused of trying to give him COVID-19. Or wake up to an ax splintering my little closet bedroom door in spite of the fact that there’s not a lock on it to begin with.
So, yes, all the hours I can possibly get because regular exposure to a pandemic in a profession I don’t want to be part of is preferable to having to endure life here at home with my ex.