I don’t have to leave my house to “go” to work.
Most everything I have to do is on these 35 acres or within a mile of my home. And my routine is pretty much the same seven days a week.
So Mondays aren’t really all that big a deal. But rainy days? Well, those make EVERYTHING more challenging.
It’s been one heck of week here. Heavy rain for at least an hour or more each day means that it’s so soggy I can barely tell the difference between the mud and the manure (and that’s an important distinction to make around here!).
My driveway is a river. I haven’t had to fill water troughs for days because it rains as much as the horses, donkeys and goats drink.
Gray days infect my soul with a kind of weariness that’s hard to express.
I’m always just a breath or two away from overwhelming sadness, and when there is day after day after day of rain and clouds and mud and muck it often overtakes me.
I try so hard to buck up and ignore it. But I’m not always successful.
Mornings are good. If I sleep well the night before, I can get going and momentum carries me through until a little after lunchtime. Somewhere between three and four in the afternoon, I usually lose the battle.
Willpower just isn’t enough to overcome the sense of “what’s the use” that nips at my heels like a terrier chasing a squirrel.
So I usually give in. Sometimes I even go on to bed.
I feel like a failure.
I used to be able to work hard for a good 18 hours out of every 24.
Not anymore.
Especially on rainy days…
thelifeididntchoose 