#and all ive done is write write write and not much else
well. i can’t say whether or not i’ll change the schedule to monthly (until something interesting happens, like spring, i suppose) or not but i can say that you shouldn’t expect much update for a while. it’s not that i’ve lost my interest, it’s more that there’s just not much to talk about. i wake up, i exist, i feed my rabbits and my chickens, and then i exist some more until night falls and i finally wake up.
maybe i was too successful at planning my winter to be slow and not include any real projects to save my poor sad hands, or maybe i’m just hanging on by a gossamer thread and it’s difficult to leave my office.
i’m not getting much into my mental health because frankly that’s nobody’s business. my animals are fed and there are no kits in the nests because i had to give myself a break before i burned out entirely. the cold snaps are consistent enough now and the grow-outs are old enough to withstand them, so i haven’t had a death in some time. i did breed three does for late january kits, and hopefully that’s been enough time that i can handle it again.
i have two buckets of pickle in the bathroom and i’ve not worked on either but they are there, waiting for when i feel a little more alive. they are, at least, no longer in the freezer, which i finally roped my partner into helping me go through. i threw away…a large chunk of money’s worth of hides that were just completely unsalvageable and hopefully i can save a few that intended to go to clients. it’s going slow. is it burnout, seasonal depression, introvertism-related anxiety, or simply hyperfixation i’m not sure. but i desperately do want to return to consistent work, and not just for the money.
most of my time is spent in my room with the door shut, partly for temperature regulation (i have quite a few snakes, you know,) and partly because i wish to not be perceived by anything or anyone. what i have spent my time doing, besides drinking too much tea and soda, is writing. i have written over 100,000 words since mid-november and honestly i am a little afraid of myself. and i am proud of most of those words. genuinely i feel like this could be something good, once it’s of course edited. it’s both escapism and also therapeutic, to be able to talk about the subjects i’m talking about, and also enjoyable to finally wax poetic about death and not have everyone run away from me like i’m pumbaa at the waterhole. i’m close to finishing but today i’ve taken a break to read a book instead of write one, and it’s been nice.
it’s the last day of 2020 and i wish i could be excited but i am mostly just tired. the next month is packed for me and i’m mostly just stressed in advance about it all, knowing that i need so much downtime between events and i’m already so tired of being stuck in my room unable to leave as it is. but these things are exciting, at least - my birthday, my wedding anniversary, a tattoo appointment, picking up a new TAMUK doe from a transport. i just wish i could have the solitary time i know i’m going to need to relax after all the excitement.
but we’ll make it, i suppose. for now.
