a box of rocks

Whatever I'm doing when I'm at home, it feels like I'm carrying a box of rocks around. Each rock is something for me to remember: a task to do, an appointment to write down, a medication to take, a timer to set. I walk around worried I'm going to forget something before I get the chance to accomplish it, or at least write it down. I am very easily distracted, and I forget stuff a lot.

I walk into my parents' view, and it's like they think I blinked into existence just to do things for them. Don't forget to do my laundry. Since you're up, get me an ice cream sandwich. Have you emptied the bins yet? Go look in my bottom drawer for [thing] so you can clean it; I need it on Friday.

The reason I emerged from my room was to do something that would lighten my own load a little. I finish a task so one of my own rocks will vanish, but every task they unload on me is another rock. I ask them not to unload it all on me at once because I will forget not only their stuff but mine as well, but they either do not remember or do not care. They want to shift the responsibility to me asap so they've done their part, and it's now someone else's burden.

I am aware that I do this myself sometimes, but I try not to when I have other resources like my phone (so I can text) or a post-it (write it down and stick into my bra so it catches my attention when I get home) or my bullet journal (which I check daily). I'm usually driving when I say, "Please remember [thing]. If I mention it to you, then one of us should remember it when we get home, and I can write it down then."

You can tell that I'm angry at the moment. They've spent decades unwilling to get out of their chairs, so now they are unable to get out of their chairs without help. Because of that, it's now my problem, too.