neyronrose (neyronrose) wrote,

quietish Sunday

Not too bad.  I just didn't want to drive anywhere today.  I had brunch, and R. used my cream because her milk had gone bad.  She'd eaten some of my TV dinners while I was away, too, as I'd thought she probably would, and I told her she could replace them.  R. seems to be of the "if there's food in the house it's mine" attitude. which goes for soda and juice as well.  Next grocery shopping trip, which may be tomorrow, she'll be getting the juice and soda.  I managed to keep from getting too angry about all the food and drink of mine she'd consumed by just repeating to myself that she'd be paying for the items next time.

My package from Amazon had come to the house the other day, so I made Dunkin Donuts original blend coffee, and got some into R.  I'm not sure if it helps to keep her awake at all, or adds to her jitteriness.

Various of R.'s acquaintances came over again, before I was ready for company.  When they were gone, I started to do some editing, with R. sitting on the other overstuffed chair in the living room.  She wanted attention, though.  I don't know why I thought being in the same room with her would make her any more contented than me being in the same apartment.  D. #2, who'd stopped by, asked R. if she wanted to get her nails painted.  I said, "Go ahead, spend time with your friends."

"I'll be back by dinnertime," R. said.  She was back in an hour or so.  R. sat down on the other overstuffed chair, and started to sniffle.

"Why are you unhappy?" I asked.  "You saw your friends, and got your nails done."

"I miss my mom," she said.

"Write a letter," I said.  R.'s grief counselor has her writing letters to her deceased mother, and putting them by pictures of her.  I can't tell if it's working at all, but I suppose as long as R. thinks it will, that's the important thing.  "Tell her how you feel, tell her what's been going on with you."

I know what R. wrote, because she spoke aloud when writing.  It was just, "I love you.  I miss you."  She put that by a picture of her mother at a wedding.

Sometime a bit later, I suggested to R. that she clean out the tub and take a bath.  "My nails are still a little sticky," she said.  I gave it fifteen minutes.

"Okay, come here.  You can wear gloves.  Come on."  This quickly led to a crazy-fit about how she couldn't clean the tub because she was afraid of germs.  I ended up cleaning the tub while she deigned to watch how I did it.  She was fine as long as she could just look and didn't have to go near the tub.  It would be better if she'd tell me directly why she doesn't feel able to do things instead of making several different excuses first, to say the least.

I decided I might as well move on to other cleaning.  I asked R. to sweep the dead miniature rose leaves off my floor.  She managed that without any screaming, or even any objection.  I thanked her for doing that.  I dry-mopped my room, then had R. dry-mop her room.  "It's fine," she said beforehand.  Once she'd mopped, there was a lot of grime on the Swiffer cloth.

"See, your room needed it."  I had her do some of the living room, and I did parts of it, too.  I showed her how to mop in sweeps rather than a swipe here and a swipe there.  "Did C. show you how to clean floors?' I asked.

"No.  The maid showed me how to clean this floor."

I fumed slightly.  "So you had a maid here?" I asked, hopefully just sounding calm and curious.

"Well, Mom and I had a housemaid, then she showed me how to clean here."

"How many months did you have a maid here?"  R. wasn't sure.  "In July, August, September?"

"August," R. said.  Well, it let me know that the apartment had actually been cleaned once since she moved in.

I went ahead and mopped the kitchen floor.  I figured there wasn't a lot of point to mopping the bathroom floor until that pink rug, which is getting a little nasty again, was up to be washed.

I got my laundry together.  I expected R. would stay in the apartment, but she went down with me to the laundry room on my trips, and watched me do two loads of laundry.  "Maybe we could do some of yours," I said, when mine was in the wash and we were back upstairs.

"I'm a little tired," she replied.  "I think I'm going to go lie down."

I was going to make eggs and bacon for dinner, but there was apparently nothing left of the at least two packages of bacon I'd bought since I'd been there.  "There's turkey sausage," R. said.  Indeed, there were turkey sausage patties in the freezer.  I fried eggs, and microwaved the sausage patties.  When we'd eaten those -- I gave her most of the sausage -- I heated up leftover polenta, which will apparently keep for a good long time.  So we had a decent enough meal.

"We'll eat the leftover chicken stew and potatoes tomorrow," I said.

So I got some cleaning and laundry done.  My plans tomorrow include more cleaning, a grocery shopping trip, and hopefully getting R. to do some of her laundry.

Tags: cleaning up, roommate

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