I am trying to write a sentence about the laundry, but first I need to remember whether I sent the rent check, and whether MOM there's enough milk for tomorrow, and whether the deadline for my work project is Friday or next Friday.
It is supposed to be Tuesday. I think it is Tuesday.
The fish, Megaladon, needs fed at 8. The plants need watered every other day. Is that today? I have to pick up the kindergarten registration packet at 9. My mom asked that I help her apply for retirement last week.
Somewhere in here I am also MOMMY supposed to think.
the laundry
The laundry is a comic strip. It is the same panel every time. I sit on the couch with clean clothes that still need work, and the work pulls at my attention from at least three directions.
I made a comic about this. You can read it here — but be warned, the panels do not resolve. That is the point. Caregiving is not a story arc. It is a loop with small variations.
~ click the panels ~
What did Sousanis call it? Unflattening. Putting things side by side so the meaning happens between them, not in any single frame. Try to keep going.
the deadline
It is Fridaynext Friday tomorrow. It was always tomorrow. MOM!!!
I have not picked up the registration packet. I have thought about picking it up. Thinking about picking it up is not picking it up. Loveless calls this the "research-creation" of the everyday — the way a life of caregiving generates knowledge that the academy doesn't know how to count.
the draft
My homework draft is a folder full of words I have moved around. The cursor blinks. The cursor has been blinking since 6:42 AM.
Sometimes the cursor is the most patient thing in the house.
the words
I made a sketch where the words pile up. Click here to see them. Each click drops another word onto the canvas. The canvas does not get bigger. The canvas is the size of a Tuesday.
~ click the canvas ~
This is the thing I keep meaning to say in the chapter. Back to thinking.
trying to think
To think, I need:
— quiet
— MOOOOM a clear surface
— at least 20 minutes !!!
— to not be needed
I have, currently:
— half a cup of coffee
— eleven minutes
— two browser tabs about laundry
The need is not the problem. The need is the love. The need is also the fact that nobody else is going to do this and the household runs on my noticing.
This is what Design Justice calls the matrix of domination made small and domestic — the way invisible labor accumulates onto whoever already carries it. Costanza-Chock writes about who designs systems and who they leave out. The system of my Tuesday was not designed by me. I just maintain it.
I am trying to write a sentence about the laundry, but first I need to remember whether MOM the rent check was sent, and whether there's enough milk for tomorrow.