Not more than a few minutes after waking up this morning, there were messages from a local talk radio station wanting me to come on before 9:00am to talk about relocating The Belmont Goats. I ignored them, and only responded later on when I was actually up and about.
(I don’t intend to use this as a sort of diary, but right now I am having maybe the toughest time since leaving the Vocational Rehabilitation job placement that nearly destroyed me. Writing it out is my only option.)
Nothing that happened over the weekend was overt physical exertion, but my body nonetheless still today apparently has nothing to give.
Breakfast was almost only coffee and a Clif bar, because yesterday evening’s exhaustion precluded doing the breakfast dishes from that morning. I managed, barely, to think of a new breakfast dish whose novelty gave me just enough energy to make it.
All morning, emails, voicemails, and texts have been flooding in about helping to relocate the goats. Most of them are people who, for whatever reason, do not understand that a 20-acre site full of blackberries in another city does not work for “Portland’s nonprofit resident herd, offering an oasis of rural community amidst the built, urban environment.” Helpful and knowledgable people we actually know are tossing out local property ideas, and while I appreciate it, I’ve had to ask for a pause because all these messages, when I’m still not in any way recovered from the expenditure of energy over the weekend, were beginning to crush me.
How does anyone “normal” manage to do more than two days of activity—two days that aren’t even full-time, and aren’t even overtly physical work—and not need at least two days off to recover? Somehow I’m supposed to make an economically self-sufficient life instead of destroying my family’s finances when I can’t even do more than two days of personally-rewarding work without nearing a physical and emotional collapse.
Today is hard.