One does not imagine that while Immanuel Kant was writing the «Critique of Pure Reason» the woman suddenly told him:
—Look Manuel, go look for the CLAP bag that they already told you they’re delivering.
It’s hard to imagine something like that.
Or to Hegel that while he was racking his brains looking for the most regal arguments to write the «Phenomenology of the spirit» the woman called him and said:
—Georg, look there’s no bread flour to make the arepas for dinner, go before the Chinese close.
It’s not possible.
It is said that Jules Verne abandoned the woman because between her complaints and the boy’s crying she could not write. Rousseau, who had about half a dozen boys, when his wife died she went to a hospice and left the sutes there, but she never saw them again. Auguste Rodin knew how the house was, if he was upside down or not, the only thing that interested him was sculpture and nothing else.
Of course, this pod is not only in the macho, patriarchal and short-legged discourse. Women have their thing too.
Who, tell me, can imagine that while Simone de Beauvoir was writing «The Second Sex» Sartre’s one-eyed man came to tell her:
—My little beaver, the water is coming, we have to wash the clothes. Here’s the soap.
Neither pod.
To Virginia Woolf, who committed suicide, I don’t think her husband ever said to her:
—Look Virginia, you can make me some arepas al budare.
Those are unimaginable things.
No wonder Marie Curie was going to be sent by her husband to go to the market to buy some pig’s feet to make some beans, and incidentally he’ll ask how the onions and carrots were. These people were dedicated to more interesting things, and not to these infamous trifles.
That which the aforementioned de Beauvoir called immanent work, which is nothing more than unproductive, smelly work that no one cares about or gives a damn about, which is domestic work or the work that the house slave does is incompatible with work and intellectual intentions, be these in the sciences or in the arts.
I have not seen on social networks that someone takes a selfie in the dishwasher with the freshly washed dishes, or takes it next to the sink even though it is as clean as a sun, or while doing the laundry. People take fucking selfies while at a party, at work, in a restaurant, while traveling. But never while doing housework. Work that no one appreciates.
No one is enraptured contemplating how clean the sheets were while they flutter in the wind; or you are amazed at how the fridge looks after you have cleaned it. No, nobody does that shit.
One is born and grows, because let’s be honest, weeds grow. In this process one sees as something natural that there is someone of the female sex who spends every fucking day making food, cleaning the floor, doing the laundry, who is waiting to clean the sinks in case there are several; that is, that she breaks down all day long losing her time and her life in those miserable tasks. But, the most interesting thing is that you look at all that work, over the years, as you look at the pot that has been in the patio since the beginning of time. Let’s say, as something natural and that it has always been that way, and also that it will continue to be that way forever.
No one gives thanks or thanks to that being that makes all those pods, not even on the hypocritical Mother’s Day where everyone has the best mother in the world. On the contrary, if one hires a person to sweep and mop the floor, in addition to paying him, he is grateful and even publishes the photos of how that person left the house clean. It doesn’t happen that way, with that being who «naturally» spends his life doing the same thing, without anyone noticing.
Domestic work or housework also creates clinical pathologies, from which psychiatrists, psychologists, psychoanalysts, and now those of the blessed coaching live. Some time ago an acquaintance told me:
—We are not used to having dirty clothes at home, because mom washed every day.
I almost did not commit one of those recklessness that can cost one’s life, because I was about to tell her that maybe her mother was paranoid or who knows what psychopathology she would suffer from. Because vile domestic work creates pathologies, creates compulsions, creates bulk frustrations, which undermine the personality and psyche of those who are dedicated to it. Thank God, there is divorce.
So when we hear someone extolling domestic work, one can be sure that what is there is a rampant pathology, a derangement and contained repressions that one day will surface and that the most asshole will pay the piper. Because ladies and gentlemen, domestic work is contrary to any human project. In the Bible, God was an asshole when he cursed women with childbirth pains, because she has had to suck for centuries after century that sheath of being a house slave, that is, of having been domesticated to being a human being null.
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