Another indicator, Troy & Maggie were thru-
They kept fighting over & over about the same stupid thing,
...
Groceries-
...
Maggie is a cook,
Chef seems a bit of a pretentious description of her,
but she could be,
If she wanted to be,
And she does,
Chef-ery things.
Assess ingredients in the refrigerator,
Track what is available &
Needs to be used,
Scan whats on it's way out
And pairs with items sitting in the pantry,
She then whips something up accordingly,
Then, saves the scraps, post meal time to dispose of at Compost site.
Minimal waste mindset.
In everything.
Since Troy was diagnosed with his new Auto Immune Deficiency Disease,
Her priorities have gotten thrown out the window.
It's the Troy show
All day, All the time.
What does Troy want? How is Troy feeling? Does Troy need an ice pack?
She has to take a # in order to get to the restroom.
Is this what relationships are?...
Cause who signs up for this?
The practical side of Maggie's head boomed base beats to her belly,
As she swooped downstairs,
Whirling whirling, internally and activitely,
To come up on Troy,
Fancy as Fuck
Chopstick deep-
Into his
Fantastic, Fanfaronade, Fish Salad.
Wasabi, Ginger, Lemon,
The whole deal,
On our budget...
In Plastic.
Whats next a blood diamond...
Would that be alright with you?
"Oh sorry, I didn't know you'd still be home"
Troy casually throws her way without looking up,
Boomhead says "well I am", noticing
"That's a nice salad"
"Want a bite"
"No."
Thank You. Boom, Boom, Boom.
Swinging into the kitchen,
Maggie gets pangs of annoyance,
One after another, hitting her all sides,
Soup on the pan shelf,
Wet rag on the counter,
Air riddled with fruit flies,
"I've told you time, and time, and time again,"
Maggie screams inside her head
Stomach tense, hairs standing straight up,
Too much monotony without being heard
I can't do this anymore. Shaking side to side inner patron Maggie,
The adjustments, a many since he got sick,
But none more so,
Then having to be ok
With his complete disregard for her
Zero waste Goals.
So while she's being asked to completely adjust
He's just not trying
Not to-
Die.
Seems like an unfair trade off to me.
Somehow.
With a rump roast sitting patiently tucked in plastic wrap,
Marinating,
Apparently, as it slow cooks,
So will she.
Why are words even necessary?
Plastic, seems like a minor issue to fight over,
So she tries not to keep score.
The laundry - stacked,
The garbage - crunched,
The ice trays - empty,
Sink- piled,
Britta- expired,
Coffee, dry,
These are all little things,
True enough indeed
And surely not worthy of an outcry,
But too coupled with the vastness of nothing,
Doing nothing,
Sharing Nothing,
Offering nothing
She can't take it.
That's what happens when the teeter totter starts to topple,
And he doesn't even notice,
Maggie's tired,
Of doing it all.
The little things,
The loving things.
The please help me help the planet things.
"Oh you're trying not to die?"
Welcome to the club.
Living with someone who does not share your values=
Being tackled one mile from the goal line.
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