Moving
I'm moving this week. Both of my housemates in my current house are leaving town, so it's time to part ways and for me to move a bit further up the valley. It should be pretty awesome, actually, because I'll be living where I garden. Though I'll no longer be able to walk to work. We'll see about biking - there's a beastly hill, and y'all know how I feel about beastly hills.
Either way, I'll be moving again in January, into a 6-month house sitting gig.
After that? Who the hell knows?
I love what I do but sometimes (often) it is too much. There is more to do than I can reasonably (or unreasonably) handle. My predecessor burned out in 11 months; I'm coming up on that milestone real fast and hoping I can keep it together through next year. Again, I love what I do and I love the people I work with. I just don't like that sinking feeling I get every morning when I wake up and think about how much work is waiting for me at the office. Every day. Forever. With no end or reprieve in sight. And none of it with the time or resources to do it truly to the best of my ability. Everything seat-of-the-pants, reinvent-the-wheel. And then the guilt for leaving at, you know, a reasonable hour like 5 or 6. And for knowing that compared to somebody forced to slaughter chickens for 16 hours a day in near-slavery conditions, my job is positively cushy.
I don't know. I don't even want to take a vacation because then all I've got is an even larger pile of work to be done.
On the bright side, my new place has a cat. And wood floors in my bedroom. And a KitchenAid I can borrow. And did I mention I love the people I work with? And my new housemates are great? And that I got to work in my garden for 6 hours on Saturday (with the sunburn to prove it)?