The Hole
*pop* Suddenly there's a big hole in the world where someone used to be. Everyone congregates at the hole, then goes their separate ways, filling it as they can on their way out. You can't keep this from happening. The first week was chaos, dozens of people coming and going, stopping to bludgeon sobriety into submission for a bit and getting back to their lives.
Someone, drunk, was mad because I hadn't taken over, I wasn't giving orders, I wasn't being HER. I'm not her. Sorry. I'm sorry. I can't be her, and if I tried, I would be reviled as an impostor. I am a friend, I love the people here, but I am a tenant. I had my own life, my own agenda before this happened and I still do. I'm just spreading myself thinner to help fill the hole.
EVERYONE will be congregating at the hole. I don't know what is expected of me to facilitate this, and I am in a constant loop of self-criticism. I'm not even on top of it, everyone here works and is doing the best they can, things are getting done. People are showing up and giving their precious time and resources to help. I am a synapse, a bridge, a hem. No one knows what they're doing, and it's all going to happen anyway. 300 people on the little farm.
I want them to see the parts that make us happy, why we love it here, what SHE wanted it to look like. This place is mud and smells and noise and weeds and broken things and junk, and that's all a lot of people see. Not the little creeks and springs running through, the skunk cabbage, the frogs, the snags that house three species of woodpecker. The towhees and the hummingbirds, the raven that screams like Homer Simpson and the crows that chase her. The blackberries hide coveys of California quail that we only see when it snows.
All this surrounding the neglected garden that has fed us, maybe not as well as it could have, but who had time? And the feathered children she & I butted heads about more than anything else.
She had in her head visions of her perfect home, and what she wanted. It all takes work and time. Now we're all scrambling to make it the perfect place she told us about, and we don't have time or resources if we even know how. So what people are going to see is hurried, patched, and the smells and mud and junk you don't see when someone speaks of an idyllic hobby farm.
She taught me detachment. I learned that even when I did what I could or what she wanted it could all disappear under weeds and mud, or the Next Big Idea. We both boiled with frustration, and let it go. Worked around the big stuff, or went back to revenue producing activity, the conventions, our friends, our online worlds. We'd take a few minutes of every day to work on the stuff that was bothering us. The easy stuff, anyway. We make time for the farm a few hours a week, usually it just went screaming by.
Is this going to be a gathering she would be proud of? It won't be perfect, it's never perfect. She was as self-critical as I am when it came to her territory. I was conscious of what WAS her territory, and our boundaries differed-what she was happy for me to work on I had often avoided assuming she had plans. We weren't great at communicating with one another.
Now I'm just helping. Maybe in spring Mike and I will plant the garden we've wanted to, or maybe we won't make time again, or the man will have a Grand Vision for what he wants. The dust hasn't cleared. It probably won't for awhile. No one here knows what 'normal' is right now, no one knows what 'normal' is going to look like, and what 'normal' is next month will fluctuate and change and progress into something else. Scrambling, but in a holding pattern.
Feed the chickens and ducks, feed the pigs, feed the turkeys, clean the chicken pen, give everyone fresh water, try and maintain a shelter for the pigs(big bad wolf my ass-they tore their own house down), pay rent, let the man know when they need feed or bedding, or go get it myself. Now maybe keep the garden weeded so her ornamentals can continue to grow. The Man... has a kid to raise, a farm to run, vehicles to take care of, and a full-time job. I dread asking anything of him and I'm not expecting much. He's been doing better than I thought he would.
My Partner In All Things disappeared into codeland as soon as we got back that day. He just wants 'normal' and quiet -which it never is here, and now less so. Make coffee, make smokes, get groceries, do dishes, do laundry. Be mad at me. Be frustrated because of the constant interruptions and my state of distraction and exhaustion, and my dismissal of others' idiotic comments because I don't have the energy for unnecessary confrontation. I haven't felt this alone since we moved in together, I don't even know if his attention would change that. Race car driver and pit crew, we trade off, but the races have been cancelled for a bit. It's been a rough year for us without this.
Work, keep moving, do what needs doing, see what we've got when the dust clears, help the family. Am I OK? I don't know. How am I taking it? I don't know. I can't do a systems check right now. I shut down most of my emotions and empathy because everyone here is hurting so bad. I'm not firing on all cylinders. If you've got something to say, make it constructive. I'm probably not doing the best I can, but you could make me a damn list instead of complaining.
Someone, drunk, was mad because I hadn't taken over, I wasn't giving orders, I wasn't being HER. I'm not her. Sorry. I'm sorry. I can't be her, and if I tried, I would be reviled as an impostor. I am a friend, I love the people here, but I am a tenant. I had my own life, my own agenda before this happened and I still do. I'm just spreading myself thinner to help fill the hole.
EVERYONE will be congregating at the hole. I don't know what is expected of me to facilitate this, and I am in a constant loop of self-criticism. I'm not even on top of it, everyone here works and is doing the best they can, things are getting done. People are showing up and giving their precious time and resources to help. I am a synapse, a bridge, a hem. No one knows what they're doing, and it's all going to happen anyway. 300 people on the little farm.
I want them to see the parts that make us happy, why we love it here, what SHE wanted it to look like. This place is mud and smells and noise and weeds and broken things and junk, and that's all a lot of people see. Not the little creeks and springs running through, the skunk cabbage, the frogs, the snags that house three species of woodpecker. The towhees and the hummingbirds, the raven that screams like Homer Simpson and the crows that chase her. The blackberries hide coveys of California quail that we only see when it snows.
All this surrounding the neglected garden that has fed us, maybe not as well as it could have, but who had time? And the feathered children she & I butted heads about more than anything else.
She had in her head visions of her perfect home, and what she wanted. It all takes work and time. Now we're all scrambling to make it the perfect place she told us about, and we don't have time or resources if we even know how. So what people are going to see is hurried, patched, and the smells and mud and junk you don't see when someone speaks of an idyllic hobby farm.
She taught me detachment. I learned that even when I did what I could or what she wanted it could all disappear under weeds and mud, or the Next Big Idea. We both boiled with frustration, and let it go. Worked around the big stuff, or went back to revenue producing activity, the conventions, our friends, our online worlds. We'd take a few minutes of every day to work on the stuff that was bothering us. The easy stuff, anyway. We make time for the farm a few hours a week, usually it just went screaming by.
Is this going to be a gathering she would be proud of? It won't be perfect, it's never perfect. She was as self-critical as I am when it came to her territory. I was conscious of what WAS her territory, and our boundaries differed-what she was happy for me to work on I had often avoided assuming she had plans. We weren't great at communicating with one another.
Now I'm just helping. Maybe in spring Mike and I will plant the garden we've wanted to, or maybe we won't make time again, or the man will have a Grand Vision for what he wants. The dust hasn't cleared. It probably won't for awhile. No one here knows what 'normal' is right now, no one knows what 'normal' is going to look like, and what 'normal' is next month will fluctuate and change and progress into something else. Scrambling, but in a holding pattern.
Feed the chickens and ducks, feed the pigs, feed the turkeys, clean the chicken pen, give everyone fresh water, try and maintain a shelter for the pigs(big bad wolf my ass-they tore their own house down), pay rent, let the man know when they need feed or bedding, or go get it myself. Now maybe keep the garden weeded so her ornamentals can continue to grow. The Man... has a kid to raise, a farm to run, vehicles to take care of, and a full-time job. I dread asking anything of him and I'm not expecting much. He's been doing better than I thought he would.
My Partner In All Things disappeared into codeland as soon as we got back that day. He just wants 'normal' and quiet -which it never is here, and now less so. Make coffee, make smokes, get groceries, do dishes, do laundry. Be mad at me. Be frustrated because of the constant interruptions and my state of distraction and exhaustion, and my dismissal of others' idiotic comments because I don't have the energy for unnecessary confrontation. I haven't felt this alone since we moved in together, I don't even know if his attention would change that. Race car driver and pit crew, we trade off, but the races have been cancelled for a bit. It's been a rough year for us without this.
Work, keep moving, do what needs doing, see what we've got when the dust clears, help the family. Am I OK? I don't know. How am I taking it? I don't know. I can't do a systems check right now. I shut down most of my emotions and empathy because everyone here is hurting so bad. I'm not firing on all cylinders. If you've got something to say, make it constructive. I'm probably not doing the best I can, but you could make me a damn list instead of complaining.