I stood in the kitchen. It was dark outside. Everyone in the house had gone to bed. Except me. I stood there, and looked at the kitchen sink. That sink was the perfect description of life to me. It never ended. It never let up. I never got to rest. I never got a break. I had to clear the dishes, the pots, the pans, the silverware, the glasses, and all the rest, from the kitchen sink every night.
Every night.
“What if I don’t do it?”
I don’t know how many nights I’d thought that. Or how many times I’d thought that on any single night. But there the thought was, again.
“What if I leave the dishes where they are?”
And that damned voice in my head answered me, “Then there will be more dishes to deal with tomorrow. And if you don’t deal with them tomorrow, there will be even more dishes on the day after tomorrow.”
I stared at the damned dishes. I wanted to go to bed. To lie down and cover myself under the blankets, and get warm, and sleep. I wanted to hide from everything. And sleep for a week. Or more. To sleep until I felt better about everything.
“The longer you let them sit, the worse it will get.”
I hated the voice in my head sometimes. That night, as I forced myself to wash the dishes for the millionth time, I wished I could shut that voice up forever.
249 Words
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This is week 592 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the stories in this week’s #ThursThreads. Some gifted writers write for #ThursThreads every week. The stories are fun to read.
My Soul's Tears 