Happy Christmas, or otherwise. I hope for you it is restful.

Out here in my woods it is beautiful weather, and I've been industriously mulching and moving woodchips for my pathways, "assisted" by chickens happy to be released from the greenhouse. I’ve been listening to books about octopuses, philosophy, and C-PTSD. ("Allostatic load, polyvagal theory, reparenting, pendulation"... )

My primary realization from these two days of whole-culture-agreed-upon non-work, is how much I need rest. Prolonged, recovery-inviting, relief. That's not stillness, obviously. Dozens of wheelbarrow loads and thousands of steps say otherwise, but my mind is at rest because there is nothing I have to do, and this is invaluable. Every future have-to-do feels like a burden.

I'm leery of making decisions out of a short-term desperation, but I am a rest-seeking machine right now. Bring me the relief.

An every-day list item of mine: Hormetic stress. Heat, cold, or breath. Cold is the fastest (#mostefficient); heat is the one you think is going to be most comfortable, until it’s really not. All of them provoke this monologue: “Am I really doing this? I decided I would do this. Seriously, I’m doing this? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, i can’t. I’m doing it. Okay, I’m doing it. I can. I am. … Oh, that feels so good after! Oh yeah, it always does! Why the heck can’t I connect the obvious and powerfully positive after-feeling to the reservations before-hand?!”

I don’t know. For some reason, it’s nearly impossible to do anything initially painful in spite of knowing the good result. It’s like I can never remember it feels good after, and that’s why.

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