It’s been a hard week on the Homestead; nothing cataclysmic or heartbreaking – just hard.
Farm Girl learnt a big lesson on the world wide web when her social media accounts were hacked, The Resident Engineer would much rather spend time engineererising (what do you mean, that’s not a word?!) than in meetings about everything but, The Farmer is battling a bug that isn’t Covid and, along with The Bean Counter, has been working huge hours to cover roster gaps due to staff sickness and shortages…and me? I’m just fed up.
It seems our family is blessed when it comes to not catching Covid in any of its variety of forms but everything comes at a price and as a group we’re tired. Really tired. Tired to the point that a forced 7 day isolation period looks quite appealing – providing that it’s a mild dose, of course. Yes, I know, it’s a textbook case of Be Careful What You Wish For.
I may have gone to a little bit of a dark place with it all; not black but kind of a greyish purple. I spent way too much time raging at the injustice of a Facebook account still being run under Farm Girl’s name because the platform feels it has no proof it’s been hacked, at sitting down to yet another meal that has more servings lined up for the microwave than around the table as someone else was unable to turn up for a shift, at injustice and meanness, petty blame-gaming…and on opening yet another cancellation letter for a routine hospital appointment because there’s no one qualified to take it. I can only imagine the UK is Lands End to John O’Groats packed with health professionals speaking with a kiwi twang because that’s apparently where they’ve all headed. Oh, don’t mind me…*deep breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth…
So, I took the dog for a walk.
Actually, it’s something Colin and I do most days, ambling down our road
from country to town
to meet Farm Girl after a long day at the Darfield High coalface.
And guess what?