Sometimes things are so hectic around here, I feel like a piece of furniture.
Not like a sofa or dining table. Those are the types of furniture that are used on a daily basis. You sit down, kick up your feet, push yourself back, lean down or just be.
More like an end table. Or magazine rack.
I feel like I’m a part of the house, but I’m overlooked. Or I’m just a piece of furniture that serves a purpose, but isn’t really necessary on a daily basis.
I’m here for support. I hold things up so that the others can be a little off kilter.
Most days I sit back and watch. Watch how this kid complains cause their favorite shirt wasn’t washed. Watch while another screams, “I’m hungry. Fix me something!” watch while Jenny complains that there’s not enough hours in the day. And I watch as my suggestions to help elevate some of this falls on deaf ears.
When things have been done by 5 for so many years that they become second nature, the other 2 are expected to adapt to that way of thinking.
Some days it works. Most days it doesn’t.
Even now. As I sit watching (trying to watch) tv I find myself being drawn to the porch. The volume level is always too loud (because everyone thinks that what they want to say is most important so screaming is the way to go), there’s too many people in the kitchen (God forbid we should utilize the other 2600 sf of this house) and there’s always at least one who insists that they should have a different dinner so Jenny needs to cook that.
So while this all takes place, I watch. In a corner. Quiet. Wondering when I’ll be utilized again.
Damn! I really want a job. At least then I can go read blueprints and lose myself in my work where I feel useful.