#work aversion

The day after baking, the kitchen exists. Overwhelmed by the sight, my brain moves to resist. "You can clean this later" a shifty voice whines "Your family is gone for the day, you have time."

First unload the dishwasher slowly but sure. The handwashing lurks, the real task to endure. The cups and the plates move from washer to shelf, Then from counter to washer in spite of myself.

"OK that part's done, cross it off, take a break." I yearn for the doomscroll, a timeless mistake I stare at the sink where I'd put pans to soak. I could have just washed them last night, what a joke.

Regret and shame team up to further the cause Of my conscious subconscious to put me at pause. "JUST DO IT." the logical voice butting in "It takes 20 minutes if you just BEGIN."

Regret and shame quiet, walled off by that fact And the logical voice should compel me to act. The conscious subconscious continues to stall "But if you don't have breakfast you can't start at all!

Just take a small break!" the shifty voice lies "Have a snack, read a book, take a load off my guy. Especially if tasks are as quick as they claim." "Just DO IT." says Logical, rallying Shame.

I stand in the kitchen, muse and overthink As the pans and the bowls sit and rust in the sink. My to-do list mocks me with task after task Which if I'd just started would be in the past.

I put on my headphones to shut up my brain, Brace myself for boredom, emotional pain Of doing the job put upon me to do. 20 minutes, and half of the cleaning is through.

The pans in the drying rack shiny and chrome I can almost believe I've control of my home. "Let's take a break NOW" my subconscious implores Because next on the list we must tackle the floors.

And not just the vacuum or mopping will do, With sugar affixed to the floor like a glue. Weeks if not months of immovable stains. "Let's take a break NOW" cry out all of my brains.

I listen of course, though I hear Shame protest From behind the barriers protecting the rest Of my brain from paralysis borne of self-hate. I put on a timer and sit down to wait.

My phone will distract me from shame and regret. Oops, hours have passed and the floors aren't done yet. Another day wasted, add it to the stack. I start up on dinner. My family gets back.