I took time off from work this week. This is what I have done so far:
- deep cleaned the kitchen
- deep cleaned the bathroom
- cleaned the floors
- repaired the kitchen chairs
- caught up on laundry
- looked at the Internet
- made a chicken caesar salad for dinner
- eaten a bunch of fruit whizzed up in kefir
- drank some wine
- drove around with Tris
- cleaned up my art studio
- cleaned out my closets
- weeded the fire pit
- weeded the side yard
- caught an actual Snorlax
- called an electrician about my porch light and bathroom fan
- figured out how to document my hours for future student loan forgiveness
- cleared out the month of August for the roastery
- started a budget for the potential hiring of our “intern”
- slept in a little bit, with my “Snorlax” pictured above
- made a list of more things to do
Sounds restful, huh? Nesting is my self care. I have a harder job now. My last job was OK and had kind of entrepreneurial challenge to it, which I enjoyed. Now I’m working in a more complicated system that tries to address more complicated problems. And I’m back in housing, which is where my heart has always been. This is where I want to be. This is the work I want to do.
But it’s frustrating work – working with people always is – and the resources are so scarce. There are a lot of competing interests all vying for the placement of their clients resulting in intensified pressure on the fulcrum of the system, which is my job. My job is essentially a never ending puzzle, where people and programs are the pieces. It’s fascinating. It’s tiring.
A client died last week. Outside. In the park. After begging for help. Other messed up stuff happened that doesn’t belong in this blog, but suffice it to say that it was Situation Normal: All Fucked Up, which isn’t unique to my job. Certainly this social problem is SNAFU all over the country now.
And before that happened, Nat moved, which was surreal. I can be a little closed off but when my life went underwater last year I let Nat in like no one else. I felt like I was drowning except she kept reaching under and pulling me up for air. My feelings about her move are complex because it was a good choice and I understand and respected it. But then the penultimate time I saw her she got up to leave my house and I couldn’t control these bellowing sobs coming out of my chest. It was humbling and humiliating at the same time, but I don’t care because you know what? I think she will always be my life preserver, no matter where she is.