Space

Kitchen counter as of last night

Counter space, closet space, living space. No matter how much space I have in my house, Mark finds a way to fill it. I thought that with the Christmas holiday out of the way there would be no more packages being delivered. I'm so stupid. Two came yesterday, part of the never ending stream of crap that fills this house. Every once in awhile I get a bug up my ass and clear things out. I take the shit that we almost never use and drag it down to the basement, out to the garage, or just dump it on the back porch. Ah, for a short time the house looks clean and neat. At least it looks that way to me. To Mark it looks like space that needs to be filled. So he goes on line and starts ordering. Usually things we already have down in the basement, in the garage, or on the back porch. Sometimes he orders things that are in plain sight, that we have and don't need more of. It drives me insane, but if I go on a rant I get a rant right back at me. And Mark is not nice when he rants. This battle for space probably won't ever be won by me. That includes the nightly battle we wage in the dark. I will get out of bed in the middle of the night and quietly make my way to the bathroom. When I return to the bed I invariably find Mark sleeping diagonally across the bed, his head and pillow slopped over onto my pillow. And when I plop down onto what should rightly be my space, knocking him in the head, he whines about me taking up his space. I blame my morning backaches on the fact that most of the time he has me shoved onto only twelve inches of mattress, while he sprawls across the rest of the bed. The only recourse I have is when he has to get up to pee. You see, his bladder is even weaker than mine and the minute I hear him creak off to the toilet I shove his pillow and blankets back over to the other side. He who pees last, loses.

Kitchen counter after one of my decluttering jags