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 If I Die Tomorrow, Who Will Do the Dishes?
This is a collection of postcards to my family. It was begun with a heavy heart. I was tired...tired of nagging, pleading, yelling my way into a cleaner life. I yearned for domestic bliss. My desperation has brought me to public humiliation as I wage my war against uncooperative attitudes, dirty dishes, and a whole laundry list of charges. My message takes direct aim at my family, my source of great inspiration and chronic fatigue.
Lines drawn for the combat zone have shifted.
I hate to admit defeat.
I was outnumbered.
It does not mean I am happy. It means I seethe. It means I feel guilty. I have not trained them well. In my passive aggressive state, I have realized I must remember what is important.
I figure if we each fondly remember something from those early years, every day, we will have a bloodless and perhaps kinder, gentler transformation into adulthood.
Theirs and mine.
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