Cleaning and taking care of the house, working every weekend to maintain a level of integrity. I move fast with smooth movements to efficiently get the job done, until I get to the kitchen. I see her slow movements, I see a little snack that she has prepared. 

“Move out of the way…” is all that I can say as the irritation builds up inside me. As the rage grows inside, I try to release it by cleaning. In the way again... I am holding a glass plate, each bump filling me with hate. 

Thinking to myself It would be more useful if she were to stand on the other side knowing she doesn’t understand that after ten times of brushing into her side. My concentration starting to stray. I repeat again. “Move out of the way.” walking past her, this time pushing her body out of the way.  

I continue to clean as her face becomes exasperated, looking at how much progress I have made. I despise how my mother would take this task and stretch it on for days, and how the sensation of jealousy runs over her face. Feeling like the tension in my heart is about to make my mind explode, I bump into her again with her body taking the space as a whole. Walking towards the cabinets with the place for the plates to stay, irritation in my voice grows as I say “Move out of the way!” 

I clean the house because I can’t stand mess, my pet peeve is so strong that I can’t even think or write about it without a level of stress. My mothers, slow and messy existence will be something I will be happy to see disappear. I can’t even write something creative or fun, for the irritation she provides, my mother makes my creativity die.