Unproductive

When I go to bed tired and frustrated after a 100% mum’s day I wonder what I did all day that I feel so exhausted, but don’t find a satisfying answer. I ask myself whether I am brainwashed by capitalism’s ideology so that I am unable to enjoy unproductive work. Hold on calling a mum’s work unproductive is of course highly questionable: It is splitting productive work from love work as if the latter was no real work. What a commodity oriented understanding of productive work underlies this separation from love work! Giving love should be more productive than any product can be without becoming a commodity!
Not enough, the problematic of my frustration takes another twist: Not only am I supposed to not feel frustrated even though I cannot sell my labour power as a mother. I should even feel more satisfied than someone who holds a regular employment. Giving love is a sacred activity.
But the feeling of frustration remains even though I cannot say that I do no receive love from my children. Would it be different had I been paid for the work? I don’t know I would not feel entitled to take such money as I do this work because of love. A vicious circle opens up that only confirms our current labour division. And I am an agent of it … whether I complain about it or not.

Love

Of course I could not miss out on choosing love for the letter l. Even though I don’t feel competent. But can love be a matter of competence? It has often been said that love is when someone is special for you and when you are special for someone, even though we all feel to be just one among others, nothing special. It is the most beautiful promise to become someone special for being just what you are.
The sad thing about love is that the person who is supposed to be someone special is often treated like the most unspecial person by the one who chose this person to be special for her. Why is this? How can something that is supposed to create the exclusiveness of a person fling to its complete opposite and create the condition that this person can be treated worse than anybody on the road. I can only guess. Love is unruly. It allows for a transgression of rules set in society and by this unfolds something like a state of exception, a realm of arbitrary rule, to which everyone who allows love is exposed to and that can only be outweighed by the care and responsibility with which we love, by a very singular choice of treating the special one with diligence and love.