The great Yes-I-will-get-better phase of 2021 is underway. All four of us are covid positive, all getting better, though one is back in school, having already shed whatever she could shed, leaving the rest of us coughing under a pile of leaves in her wake.
So now I grapple with the fact that I have used up all my inner resources. ( Like, six months ago.) It is true that I still take baths like it is a religion and pity the fool who gets in my way. I don’t find anything on tv that thrills me anymore, because I have seen it all. I have made all the cakes, I have unfrozen all the milk. (gross) and I have talked to all the school nurses in the entire town. (god bless them, seriously, they have to be such navigators between policy, protocol and families in shock. sigh)
Ring Dings don’t really do it for me anymore and my eyes flick away from books so easily now. I really hate that.
This is a short quarantine, compared to the shutdown of 2020, and I can certainly bear it, but I am seeing red flags in my own winter forecast ahead. Something needs undoing, or doing, or my level of discontent is going to cause problems.
Working solo is a challenge, and if I’m not careful, too much of one.
I think I’m going to feed the chickens through the winter, just to keep myself interactive with forces outside of my own four walls and thirty-eight plasticked windows. I am still on the fence, because hello, rainy february mudstorm in a chickencoop for 1200? Not going to be my favorite, not at all.
Sigh. Maybe I’ll start the flower farm. Or the coaching business. The rehab of the windmill. Because seriously.
Oh GOOD LORD, HELP ME GET THROUGH BEING BORED FOREVER AND EVER.
to you i pray,