Everything in my World is Too Heavy
This is ridiculous, the inability to do hardly anything around this farm is totally destroying my self esteem. It’s impossible to do anything with a back that constantly lets me down. I start simple projects and have to quit… or end up living on ibuprofen for a week. I would love to know what I’m supposed to do around here that doesn’t weigh more then 10 pounds. The answer to that is a big fat NOTHING.
I’m just not old enough be this dang fragile. If I don’t do anything I feel great, so great that I start thinking about working again. But following through ends up with a discouraging rude awaking that just can’t be ignored.
I’d like to clean the chicken coop, but that would mean lifting a too heavy bag of compressed shavings the size of a bale of hay. Not happening.
The new hen house needs to be put on cinder blocks… yeah right.
Hay delivery is tomorrow, that means my new hay will be piled in front of the old hay because moving even one bale of hay will probably cripple me for a month.
Not only is my profession in the real world gone forever, my job on the farm is getting done half-assed. Not acceptable.
What’s the answer? There isn’t one, so I blog, and write poetry, as if in some teeny way it might offer a sense of value to my rather unimportant existence. Is it working? NO! Today I’d just rather be pissed.
I’m definitely not this person anymore, but I’ll tell you what, I’m doing a great job running in circles trying to figure out who I am now.