katherine_the_great: (Trying To Be Patient)
It probably seems ridiculous, writing in a personal diary -- and extravagant, besides. I should be cleaning... something, or tending to something. Surely there is something better I could be doing with my time. And yet, I find myself drawn to occupying my thoughts with idle pastimes - social outlets, library visits, writing in this little book - that one might not strictly refer to as 'wifely duties', per se. But really, Chester is happy and his needs are being met, so it seems reasonable enough that I should be able to have my own happiness now and then, even if not necessarily at his hands.

I sometimes visit the library to read - after all, being a community wife means that one must seek knowledge in order to support one's husband in conversation and not embarrass him by espousing foolish opinions, while gently steering him away from topics where he might otherwise embarrass himself. Chester is a charming enough man, and if you let him, he'll talk your ear off about the merits of a shoe brush, but to think of him in charge of Civil Defense if the Communists ever DO attack... well. I would hope that Civil Defense is a community effort, and not to be left to the administration of any single individual. He wants to be put in charge of our neighborhood's Civil Defense planning, but I've yet to hear him actually discuss what he wants to do to organize.

What bothers me, though, is that this is as good as things get. This is the American Dream, the happy home with the working husband and the housewife preparing dinner and it's all just so frightfully dull that I honestly wish some days that I could just go in the back yard and scream until the windows shatter. Of course, that wouldn't do. The neighbors would stare, and talk for certain. And what else would I do, anyhow? Be one of those girls who wears a slutty skirt and roller skates and gets pawed by greasy boys in cars as she delivers food, paid in change and innuendo? Work as a receptionist type-type-typing away in an office? Slave away in a factory like one of those Rosies left over from the war? Are any of those lives really any more worthwhile than a life spent cleaning things that are already clean and waiting for my man to come home from work or his business trips or hanging out with 'the boys'?

This is all there is to life, I guess.

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Katherine

December 2012

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