It feels good to finally have a moment to catch my breath, to poke around in the garden, to pick up things for the chicks, to dry and ferment food, to engage in the activities that nourish me.
I’m trying not to glorify and romanticize my productivity. Not to say that I don’t feel accomplished at times, but overall I want to examine my busyness. Working at the farm is exhausting, and not just physically. I have to interact with the people I work with all day, people who are casually ableist, and whose racial micro aggression wear on me constantly. And when I’m not at work I’m doing people favors, working for them, running errands, etc. When I do have time for myself (which I’m trying to make more of) I’m tired, burnt out, trying to recover from labor and social interactions. But I still feel that nagging urge that I should be DOING SOMETHING, and it morphs into guilt by the end of the day. That’s a whole huge thing that needs unpacking regarding race and capitalism….
And then there’s my tendency to isolate myself. I want to reach out, I want to hang out! I neglect so many of my relationships. Most of my close friends moved away (that’s the nature of college towns and 20 somethings), and I find myself alone on every day off, trying to recover so I can do it again the next day. Too afraid to reach out to people I want to connect with.
Ugh, and then there’s my mental illnesses, which is honestly the reason I can’t deal with cooperative living situations right now. Keeping my psychotic episodes a secret, keeping my anxiety, depression, bpd all hidden takes energy.
I look forward to the day when I have my own house and farm where I can open up my doors to people who can’t work and don’t want to destroy themselves with soul sucking jobs. We’ll take care of each other. Now I just gotta survive until I can make that happen.
AND my family has a big ass house in San Francisco that will be mine in time and I ain’t charging rent!