Things I am currently concerned about, a list:

  • is it SEASONAL AFFECTIVE or is it GRIEF? a constant january question. does it matter why/ how I’m sad? do any of my coping mechanisms count as ‘healthy’? why is year six so much sadder than year five? how did I forget its possible to feel this way?
  • am I using instagram as a crutch, as an obstacle to create things that are not instagrammable? why do I think about what to write on my instagram captions instead of what to write in my NOTEBOOK, which will NOT BE SHARED until it is ready?? why do I even care? I’m not interested in being insta-famous and literally gain nothing from sharing my art/creative juices on there, besides affirmation from my friends. how do I detach in order to create things that are more productive? how do you create things without a goal/deadline in mind? how do you find deadlines?
  • will I be burned out forever? or is it a cycle like my grief, washing up and down like the goddamn tide?
  • why am I having such vivid dreams? will my sleep ever become restful again?
  • will we ever be able to farm without the constant pressure of the county and their need to regulate regulate regulate?
  • how can I use my resources for good?
  • when will I write my novel? will the haralsons wait for me forever or will that plot slowly dissipate until all I have left is the chaotic barn party scene I have already written?
  • when will I count as ‘a writer?’
  • do I have what it takes?
  • is love a state of being or a verb or a decision? can it be all three?
  • how do we live against that horizon? (stolen from the intro of Storm Lake, by Art Cullen, which I have not read the rest of because it was a gift for my grandpa which then I stole back to read snippets of during our visit. it is *on the list*)
  • what other books should be on my to-read list?

It turns out this was a list of questions. Reading them all together induces a slight panic.

In other news, the best book I have read so far this year is Seed to Harvest by Octavia Butler. I’ve been finding solace in making my way through her works and admiring the ambition and scope of her writing. The worlds she could imagine??? The ways of being human and not-human??? The resistance of every single character??? Incredible.

However, it may be replaced by the best (only) book I am currently reading, which is Very Different: H is for Hawk, by Helen Macdonald. Only because it is a book so relatable, a book for Maja in January. A book about birds of prey and grieving the death of one’s father. I’m glad I bought it. It is the particular style of memoir that resonates the most with me—artistic and wandering, uniting an entirely procedural plotline (taming a goshawk) with the deep and chaotic wonderings of grief and how did I become this way and in how many ways does this thing fill a void in my life/heart?

I would rather be reading it now than writing this list, but I have to d o s o m e t h I n g and get back on track. I would like to be making such an incredible amount of art, and there’s only four weeks left before lambing.

The only question I have an answer for is this: will I address the three-season long hiatus between blog posts? The answer is no.

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