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On Household Duties
There is nothing more conducive to the development of an obsession with minutiae than dwelling with another human being.
Sundry persons of dubious qualification, the Marie Kondos and Jordan Petersons, would like the public to know that it is of vital importance that they keep their living spaces “clean and clear and under control”(™). The pressure to make it beautiful bears down with all the subtlety of a Caterpillar(™).
The charm and character of a well-developed mess aside, this genre of pseudo-philosophy is bearable in a man alone. Unfortunately, the modern Homo sapiens in its co-habitation finds it tremendously difficult to keep the sticky fingers of its mind to itself. From the first day with a new roommate, be they near-stranger or romantic partner, foreign errors commence their insidious glare: from the kitchen sink, the bathroom counter, the living room floor.
Approaches vary: “Excuse me, would you mind,” to, “Dammit, why can’t you,” to simmering silence. Regardless, someones are creating problems in one’s space, which, after all, in part at least, one owns — even a jointly rented space or hotel room. And this battle, founded in the perceived rights and responsibility of possession, can go on for years, decades, a lifetime.
Though it may start with major disturbances such as copious globs of mud spread through the house, all the lights left on at all times, a mass of clutter deposited across communal areas, it quickly devolves to smaller concerns. At last, you find yourself in the outrageous position of attempting to control (or subject to such an attempt) whether a chair is pushed under a table, a dish is cleaned within half a day, a closet door is fully closed.
It is prudent at this time to reflect upon death.
