Nothing New

I haven't really written anything, because nothing new is going on, but I just went on a tirade of throwing fabric around the room, so I figured I need I vent more, and what more appropriate place, instead of burdening the ears of my husband more.

Carol didn't know what to do with my sewing stuff from invading my bedroom, so she just put it all in a box. At first, I didn't think I minded this much, of course until I started putting stuff away. She had brought some stuff out from the living room. That I did mind at all being in the box. I had left it out, so however it came packaged to my room did not bother me, or even if she asked me to take it to the room. It was all the other things in the box that bothered me. I had loose spools of thread on a shelf, spools that I was using in the sewing I was doing right before I left, and that I thought I would use again when I came back, so I just left out. So...had I known someone was going to come through and terrorize my room, I would have put them away, so they could stay neat, and I could know where they were. The same with my scissors and other small sewing tools. But no, they were just thrown all unceremoniously into a box with larger things.

And it's like - something made her do it while I was gone - that is certain. I imagine because I spend a lot of time in the room, and so she didn't think she'd be able to do it while I was here. If she would have told me she wanted to take everything out of the room, though, I would have left it in a different situation. I would have tried to put everything away in a place, grouped with its mates. As it was, I didn't think leaving a few spools of thread and projects on shelves would be a big deal. But they all get dumped into a box, and so the effort I took arranging them and organizing them was wasted. I just get to do it all over again.

And then there is the endless struggle of - where the crap did she put [x]? I can't find where to put away my pens. Have no idea where Janardan's robe is. And she just invaded my live at all imagineable levels. We have some food in our closet. She put the food in plastic bags to prevent the ants. This, to me, makes sense and is fine. I would have done so before if I had known where the ziplocs were. However, she also cut my chip bag in half. I don't care when she does it to her own chips, but she does not have to inflict her oddities on all aspects of my life.

And I had had enough. I was unpacking this box of sewing supplies, and just wanted to get the stuff out of her annoying box. So I just started taking it out and throwing it in the air, at the same time feeling that is about the amount of respect that she had for me and my stuff. I probably won't pick it up until the day before I leave for Ohio. She freaks out when the room is dirty. So let her freak out. I'll put it away before I leave, because I want to at least have some idea of where my stuff was before I left.

Right now, I hate living here. It is suffocating. All my good will and exercise, and getting out of the house and chocolate cannot compete with the violation of storing things in her house, because she has made it abundantly clear that no part of this house is not hers - she cannot give up any of it to anyone else, even for a short amount of time. I am half-tempted to pack everything up and put it back in the car. But you know, the organized half of me wants to still bring the other things in from the car, and get everything put away. So for now, I will probably just do nothing, and maybe when I get back from Columbus, or from North Dakota, I will finish organizing the room and bringing stuff in.