I’m supposed to be on strike

Seriously. Don’t y’all know I’m trying to binge watch “continuum”?

All jokes and binges aside…

Lately, there have been entirely too many days when I’m the only one out here to deal with the minutiae. Mr B travels a lot, buying shit and going to seminars about intentional communities and such. Sunshine has been working a lot to pay for the construction of our house, and much of that work is out of town. It was exceedingly pleasant to take a break from it all and go on our whirlwind road trip last week.

side note: I’m not saying that Mr B’s purchases and seminars have no value to the community; nor am I saying that Sunshine’s work is not necessary and helpful to our home building goal. I’m just saying that these things keep dragging them away from things that need to happen here in this community they’re trying to build. Isn’t it ironic, doncha think?

When I got back from our trip, I resolved to be kinder to my body. See, even though I was stuck in a fucking car for a large portion of our roadtrip, I could feel the pains lessening in my back and hip. So I resolved to do less so that I could finish healing.

Then along came the urgent need to plant the sprouts in the garden. Sunshine’s employee is here for some work, and he is always willing to help with things around here in addition to the masonry work he does with Sunshine. Except when he’s sickish, like he was yesterday when it came time to plant things. Which meant that I had to get up off the couch and go help; otherwise, it would have taken Sunshine and Mr B several days of working at it in the evenings. As soon as we were done for the day, I stood up to head inside and realized that I had just undone several weeks of healing in my back and hip.

side note: we’re completely skipping over the fact that crawling around on my hands and knees in a dry and dusty garden did absolutely NO FAVORS for my COPD and allergies and that I’m in desperate need of cough syrup and steroid nose spray this morning.

This morning, Sunshine is at work again. Mr B is off to almost Mexico with his tractor in tow. The compost bucket was full to overflowing and desperately needed to be dumped in the compost heap. Since there was nobody else here to do it, of course my dumb ass picked it up and headed to dump it.

Once again, the fucking chickens had scattered the compost heap to the four corners of the earth. It was less compost heap and more vegetable carpet for that corner of the property. Naturally, I started scraping it back up into a heap, because it needs to be in a moist heap to decompose into something that can be used to fertilize a garden. As I scraped that shit back into a heap, I got to thinking; as I got to thinking, I got disgusted.

side note: the chickens came pecking around while I was scraping that shit back into a pile. I stopped scraping so I could throw sticks and hickory nuts at them. I don’t feel bad about it at all. I should probably call my sponsor or something.

When I came back up the hill to the magic bus, I hid the compost bucket. Until somebody does something about the compost heap so that the fucking chickens can’t scatter it to the four corners of the earth, there is no point in trying to compost anything. All food waste now goes in the trash.

side note: I’m sure that this situation will cause complications that will cause some sort of mandate to be issued, and I don’t fucking care. If I don’t have help, I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m sick of the day-to-day minutiae being unimportant and left undone while Sunshine and Mr B do all their “big picture” thinking and planning and ignoring things like the yardwork (which Sunshine did all summer last year and Mr B has done this year with those tree branches he knocked down everywhere weeks ago and has yet to pick up).

So, this morning, with new pains piled on top of old pains in my back and hip, and knowledge of an extended day of work in my future on Friday, I am serious about going on strike out here. We are headed into spring pollen season (and storm season), and my COPD is always so extra this time of year. I will barely have the spoons to take care of what needs to be done inside my home, so anything outside my home has to be stricken from the priority list.

12 step recovery taught me to guard my spiritual, mental, and emotional health. It taught me to guard it like it is more precious than the contents of Fort Knox. It’s long past time I started doing the same for my physical health.

So, I am seriously on strike. When anybody comes at me wondering about the compost bucket, they’ll get told what you’re getting told. Trying to compost our food waste is a total waste of time and energy out here until somebody does something about the compost heap so that it remains a compost heap instead of a vegetable carpet. As for the cats, well, if they get fed then it won’t be by me; those little bastards are supposed to be eating mice and shit anyway, right? The paper we’ve been saving to make logs for the wood stove? Not getting saved and stored by me anymore since we are running out of room and nobody seems interested in making logs out of it anyway. The weedeating around the RV and the pink house? I am not the one. If one of those two lets the chickens out in the morning and forgets to lock them back in the chicken house at night, then the coyotes are gonna have themselves a feast because I’m not trekking down there in the dark to lock the chicken house.

I am done wasting my time and energy on trying to do shit that nobody else seems to care about. I’m going to concentrate on doing shit that I enjoy, and if that means shopping for shoes then I’ll just take on as many hours as I can at work so I can shop for fucking shoes.

final note: I’m sitting here crying. Not a bad or sad cry. Just a gratitude cry. I’m so damn grateful for my girl Tia right now that I have no words to express it. She has been trying to teach me that if I don’t take care of my physical health, nobody else will do it for me. Well, Tia, I’m finally honestly trying to heed your warning. Thank you for being my teacher and my friend.

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