Open letter to my dishwasher

Dear WhirlPoo,

I really thought things would be different this time. So I gave you another chance. I even had the previous problems fixed. You can’t even imagine how excited I was that you’d be helping me around here. Which you did in the beginning.

But no. You just have to be difficult.

You pretend not to be lazy, swishing away the way you do. Acting like you’re working really hard. So why are some of the dishes still dirty when you’re done? Why do I have to prewash them for you? And the spots. I gave you what you needed so there wouldn’t be any. Then I find out you “can’t” wash some of the dishes yourself. You’re telling me I have to do it?

You’ve ruined too many of my things. I can almost understand why you did what you did to my Rubbermaid containers, but the Krups filter holder for my espresso machine? Did you really have to ruin that? And what about the expensive travel cup? Why did you have to go and ruin that too? What else were you planning on destroying? Huh?

Tell me. What’s the point? Do we have to go back to our previous arrangement? Do you want to forever be just an oversized dish rack? I could make it happen, you know. Just say the word.

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Blogging directly from the Mama Stony's Mental Institute. I have a husband, two young daughters, and two cats. The five of them combined is like a typhoon that wreaks havoc on my nerves. For some, that's all that is needed in order to understand why I've almost completely lost my mind. For the rest, here's a slightly lengthier explanation: I strive for organization, while my little family is pure chaos. Just trying to keep up with the housework they produce is overwhelming and intense for me. It's a daily battle with myself to keep my anxiety from shooting through the roof and exploding all over the place. Some days are easier, but most are not. Even though I'd like to, I avoid putting on make-up, spending more than 10 minutes on my hair, ironing, and accessorizing because it takes too much time and I could be using that time being productive elsewhere. Despite everything I do, at the end of each day I usually feel like I could have done more. I'm a workaholic without a job. I'm a story-teller without an audience. I hate being alone, but spend most of my days without much adult interaction. I'm artistically driven but not very creative. I want to do more but already have too much to do. And yes. I do frequently burst into song and dance.

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