Are We There Yet..?

The move is so much worse than I could have imagined. 

I freely admit to being a clean freak with an ‘organisational’ issue; and yes, that does come complete with spreadsheets and calendar entries.  But hey, I come from a long line of organisational freaks.  And if I pause to think about it, then I figure being hygienic and organised is a much better trait to have than say, burying people in the backyard under the lilies.

My house is, as I sit at work and type – utter bedlam.

Bedlam… Mayhem… Chaos.  I’m beginning to wonder if it will ever be the same again.

There is just so much stuff, clutter!  And it is scattered in every available area.  Last night I basically ironed for hours and paused to comment that I actually didn’t get to do any of my stuff!  He has been here two freaking days and for that, I basically have to wash, dry and iron everything he owns.  Although he doesn’t quite get this and I’m sure would have quite happily of just shoved them into the wardrobe – wrinkly clothes with that weird ‘didn’t get hung out straight away’ nasty smell lingering, sure as Hell aren’t going into my damned wardrobe and drawers.

And I can only wonder at ‘Clean Freak Hell’; that must certainly be a sight!  When he got home last night, he shook his head in wonder and said ‘but there is still so much to do..?’  Yes.  Well of course there is moron.  I warned him.  The week prior to moving there wasn’t even one box in the house.  It was ‘business as usual’.  If you don’t do the organisational bits, then you have to bleed through the pain of the actual move.   And sorry, but I’m not helping.  I’ve got enough to do as stuff enters my side of town; because there is a ‘layer’ that has to be scrubbed from everything!

Do I even need to mention that there was junk piled upon junk upon junk at his place?  Something I picked up to toss last weekend had a pile of the harridan’s 50^th birthday cards in it – which was at least 4 or 5 years ago.  I pitched them, figuring that if they had any sentimental value at all; she’d have collected them at some stage over the last 4+ years.

In cleaning the ugly shelves in the kitchen, I got 5 large garbage bags of rubbish.  And all he worried about was ‘do I have to check what you threw out..?’  Ummm no.  I’m tipping if I pitched it; it was without doubt, crap.  But hey, knock yourself if you have time to spare!

And when it all comes down to it, he could have just walked away with guitars on one shoulder, plasma on the other (and bags of creepy fat guys in speedos and oil – wrestling dvd’s) slung about his neck; and not bothered with the rest.  Anything of value went to the kids or the Harridan (he hasn’t quite worked out that ‘over’ thing obviously).

I suggested he keep the baby webber as it is handy to have and great if we go anywhere or have anything at home where there are quite a few people – but my suggestion was ignored and he gave that to Kid 2.  And aside from the fact that he won’t look after it; at what point does the Squeeze understand that the kid has not as yet learned to stand on his own two feet; or that basic lesson that we all learned very young – you have to work for the things you want. 

The very suggestion that the Squeeze and Harridan each pay $50 per month towards his rent so that he only has to work 20 hours per week was warning enough if you ask me.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something so outlandishly selfish and lazy.

Still, how can the kid learn when the Moodle and his idiot wife do everything except wipe his damned nose? (And seriously, I’m tipping she’d be running with a ‘Mickey Mouse’ tissue if he asked…)

So obviously my opinions or suggestions are to be ignored – although I’m interested to see what he does with the mower… lol 

As for the divorce and the discussion on maintenance – nothing so far although I’m pushing for these discussions to be had next week since its school holidays!  And I can only see drama unfolding there, because I don’t intend to skimp on everything just so that she can live the good life – that’s for damned sure!  And he will need to do the whole roll over and pee down your leg in some weird doggy mixture of fear and adoration!

Hmm wonder how long I’ll put up with this – before my freaking head explodes!