I’m back at home. My bedroom is an apocalypse of clothes at the moment. When I went to America I lied to Maria. Maria used to clean for Christine next door and Christine passed her to me. Back then she named her hourly rate and I said no and named one back that was higher. She helped solve some problems and tried to instigate systems. Some of her systems were useful, others less so. But back then she worked hard and helped, and I helped her write job applications and it was pleasant and mutually beneficial.
When people started to move back in, she started to draw boundaries and gradually she did less and less. She didn’t like Frank. She couldn’t compute him. She’s a Jehovas Witness, very devout, he’s attaching sequins to his coat for a burlesque night. I’m surprised she tolerated me, to be honest, but she wanted the employment and she probably thinks I’m closer to how I present as being.
But … she knows I’m shit at doing my laundry and that was the special power I paid her for for years. With friends in my flat it became blindingly apparent through them that she has been coasting for years. “I was here the whole time she was there. She watched videos, cooked and cleaned after herself and didn’t even hoover.” “But … she needs the work,” I would justify lack of change. And back at the start she did. But now she’s found a live-in with an old lady that needs her silver polished on the daily. She would mostly use her day here to download stuff on WiFi and cook herself dinner. I was told by too many people that she was doing fuck all. “Give me what you’re giving her, I’ll do a much better job,” I also got, because she started raising her price and lowering her hours after a while. We had a blazing row one time after she randomly asked for a lot more money saying she had had a busier week than usual. I paid her, but that was when I properly internalised that I was just a means to an end for her, and she internalised that I wasn’t gonna be fucked for cash again as I gave her such a hard time over it. And frankly that’s when both of us should have moved on, but … I’m sentimental.
I can change my own sheets and wash my own clothes. Did it for decades before I brought her in. So… Yes so eventually I lied to her. I’m sure she saw right through it. But as far as my info to her went, I was basically emigrating to America. So long, farewell, paálam, goodbyie.
So now I’m back from America and I’m gonna have to wash my own clothes. Fuck it. But… with cashflow as bad as it is right now, I’m okay with that work. I just don’t know if I’ve got the time as I’m gonna be needing to earn to stop myself running into a wall.
AlBarclay 