Dishes Full of Sink
There's an old episode of Seinfeld where Jerry informs George that perhaps he needs a psychiatrist. George asks Jerry if he really thinks it's necessary and Jerry explains that a team of psychiatrists working around the clock probably couldn't cure what ails George. Typical Larry David -funny stuff.
I'm right there with Mr. Costanza.
Through all of my adult life I'd have to say that the one thing that ails me most is clutter. I'm not trying to dig too deep here, but I hate when things are out of place. I'm not a clean-freak, mind you, but I have a deep desire to put everything away.
Pop cans waiting to be recycled? Absolute madness. The shoes tossed into the storage room, not in pairs? Drives me nuts. Waking up to the dishes full of sink? Threatens to make me jump from the highest bridge.
And I did say that correctly - dishes full of sink - and that's because during one of my melt-downs, yelling at Matt or Jake or Sam for eating a three-course meal before bed, and leaving the dishes scattered around like dead soldiers so I could find them heavily crusted in the morning - I yelled - "I DON'T WANT TO WAKE UP TO THE DISHES FULL OF SINK EVERY MORNING."
Sam laughed first. Jake soon joined him, and Matt, knowing that laughter wasn't truly appropriate, battled the giggle before letting it go.
"YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY?"
"It's kind of funny," Kathy said, coming to the aid of the children. "You said, dishes full of sink."
I walked away, stifling my own grin.
Yet I need those psychiatrists to tell me why I feel unable to write when there is even a hint of a job to do. I need Freud to explain to me why I have to rearrange the black notebook on my desk in such a manner before the mind is free to create. I need that psychiatrist from M*A*S*H to explain why a dirty dish can't rest in the sink - which is actually a fairly appropriate place for it to be.
A couple of nights ago, a buddy of mine swung by for a drink. Out of the blue, he started explaining why it's so difficult to raise two young girls who have also done a lot of lounging around during the summer break.
"I wake up and the sink is full of dishes," he said.
Sam and Kathy were both listening in. Sam cleared his throat and corrected my buddy. "Dishes full of sink," he said.
They all had a nice little laugh. My buddy brought it up to me this morning.
Perhaps Bob Newhart - who played a great psychiatrist on the old show - can bail me out.
As I head down the stairs this morning I am sure of one thing, if there's a pan left in the sink, I'm going to wake up the boys by banging on it like a bongo.
That's good mental health, isn't it?
I'm right there with Mr. Costanza.
Through all of my adult life I'd have to say that the one thing that ails me most is clutter. I'm not trying to dig too deep here, but I hate when things are out of place. I'm not a clean-freak, mind you, but I have a deep desire to put everything away.
Pop cans waiting to be recycled? Absolute madness. The shoes tossed into the storage room, not in pairs? Drives me nuts. Waking up to the dishes full of sink? Threatens to make me jump from the highest bridge.
And I did say that correctly - dishes full of sink - and that's because during one of my melt-downs, yelling at Matt or Jake or Sam for eating a three-course meal before bed, and leaving the dishes scattered around like dead soldiers so I could find them heavily crusted in the morning - I yelled - "I DON'T WANT TO WAKE UP TO THE DISHES FULL OF SINK EVERY MORNING."
Sam laughed first. Jake soon joined him, and Matt, knowing that laughter wasn't truly appropriate, battled the giggle before letting it go.
"YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY?"
"It's kind of funny," Kathy said, coming to the aid of the children. "You said, dishes full of sink."
I walked away, stifling my own grin.
Yet I need those psychiatrists to tell me why I feel unable to write when there is even a hint of a job to do. I need Freud to explain to me why I have to rearrange the black notebook on my desk in such a manner before the mind is free to create. I need that psychiatrist from M*A*S*H to explain why a dirty dish can't rest in the sink - which is actually a fairly appropriate place for it to be.
A couple of nights ago, a buddy of mine swung by for a drink. Out of the blue, he started explaining why it's so difficult to raise two young girls who have also done a lot of lounging around during the summer break.
"I wake up and the sink is full of dishes," he said.
Sam and Kathy were both listening in. Sam cleared his throat and corrected my buddy. "Dishes full of sink," he said.
They all had a nice little laugh. My buddy brought it up to me this morning.
Perhaps Bob Newhart - who played a great psychiatrist on the old show - can bail me out.
As I head down the stairs this morning I am sure of one thing, if there's a pan left in the sink, I'm going to wake up the boys by banging on it like a bongo.
That's good mental health, isn't it?
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