Grandparent alert: this post contains some foul, but necessary language. It’s 8:30am. I’ve hiked the mile to the road and back, cleaned the entire house, remade the beds, boiled drinking water, refilled the filter, greeted all the neighbors, checked on the strawberry plants, redistributed the compost, and have begun planning my week. My right eyelid has been twitching for 36 hours; an physical manifestation of the emotion stress my body is learning to manage. My hands are just a little bit shaky (probably too much coffee), and my back and neck are reminding me that water is heavy. In comparison to my neighbors, I’ve done nothing productive. This week, I broke. Not all the way… nah, I’m doin alright. But I wouldn’t be giving you the truth if I didn’t tell you that there are some
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