I wanted one room with no job waiting in it

Dear Delyara, I walked through the house last night and every room had some hand lifted toward me. A towel. A form. A charger. A mug. A school bag. A damp hoodie. A basket of washing. A pan “just soaking.” A pair of shoes in the wrong place. A reminder in physical form. I think that is what makes domestic tiredness so relentless. You are never only carrying the jobs you are doing. You are carrying the jobs your eyes are forced to keep seeing. I wanted one room I could enter without my brain immediately turning into a to-do list. There wasn’t one. So I sat in the bedroom and stared at the wall for three minutes instead. That was the closest I got.