May 23, 2005
I'm wearing shorts now. My body says it is time, and I have to admit I am not cold.
What I am is irked. I am irked at the things my family expects me to do. To them I am nothing. My goals and needs are nothing to them. My writing is not a productive use of time. They strew things throughout the house and over the lawn. They leave dirty dishes in the sink, sticky stuff in my car, and lists of things to do. They complain when I don't do them. I sound like a frustrated househusband.