Bittersweet Kind of Day

This morning was not a good morning. I laid in bed for far too long willing myself to get up and go feed my chickens. It wasn’t easy to get moving and once I was moving keeping myself going wasn’t easy either. I’m usually up and ready to feed the animals around dawn, today it was nearly 9:00 am  before I could force myself from my bed and get dressed and go outside.

It was like moving through sludge, a thick heavy sludge that threatened to suck every ounce of energy from my bones the more I fought through it. There was work to be done on my homestead, and I had to do it. The temperatures are going to start dropping again and I needed to cut firewood so that we could heat the back half of the house. That task was accomplished as the sun was beginning to set. I managed a little cleaning and reorganizing but nowhere near what I wanted to get done.

I balance between crying and not most of the day. If I happen to think or talk about anything remotely sad I’m tearing up and on the verge of bursting into tears. I haven’t been able to see my therapist since October of last year, and I don’t think seeing him is going to help get rid of this darkness surrounding me.

We’re getting rabbits next Saturday, and I find myself excited about something for the first time in half a year. Rabbits, I love rabbits, watching them hop around always makes me smile. I find them extremely calming when they are sweet and well mannered. We won’t be raising these rabbits as pets, though, living on a homestead means every animal has to have a purpose. Our rabbits will be a source of food, and eventually a source of income.

I feel bad when we have a slaughter day on our farm, but it passes because I know our livestock has plenty of room to move around on and aren’t kept in horrid conditions all their lives. They are spoiled far more than any normal “food” animal is. So it isn’t too bad.

Jack is back though, he showed up three days ago. I haven’t been able to catch him and bring him back inside though, and it’s tearing me apart. He acts like he’s in shock or something. Like the lights are on, but everyone is hiding in the basement. I was able to touch him tonight, he flinched and pulled back like he was expecting to be beaten and I cried. The most loving, friendly and well behaved cat I have even known acting like that broke my heart. I tried to grab him around the waist so I could get him back inside and ended up with claw marks on both of my hands and arms, and again I cried. For the moment that I had him in my hands, I knew he was real. Jack had really come home and I just have to calm him down. My Jack isn’t just my longing for my animal companion to come home so badly that I’m seeing things.

He’s real.
He’s home.

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