small violences of a shared kitchen

The milk left at the edge of almost-empty so whoever finishes it has to go buy more. The pan left soaking in the sink at the exact angle that makes washing your own dish impossible without moving it. The spice box refilled wrong — cumin in the coriander space — which you discover mid-cooking when it's too late to matter. The chai made just slightly too sweet or not sweet enough, both of which produce in you a response disproportionate to the actual problem. The shelf claimed slowly, your things nudged left a centimeter, then two, then suddenly you have half a shelf where you used to have a full one and no moment where this happened. None of this is worth saying anything about. None of this is anything. But at 7am before chai, standing in someone else's kitchen that you also live in, these things accumulate into a kind of weather.