Ouch iii

The anxiety wasnae too severe yesterday. The few bouts I endured were easily breathed away. My confidence grows that the "Why" compulsion which so standard in my own anxiety thought loops is far more symptom than solution. The agonizing over why definitely feeds my strictly personal anxiety. Understanding why has its useful aspects, but the tight, rapid-cycling thought loops of anxiety produce far more absurdities than valid understandings in my own case. I leave other folks to sort their own cases. This is a personal journal, not intended for professional editorials. I believe that understanding of my strictly personal psycho-weirds is like that proverbial butterfly of understanding which eludes you when you chase it, but will come to sit quietly on your shoulder if you sit quietly and wait.

Hubs decided to stay at the Urban Homestead this weekend. The three hour drive up here is feeling like too much for him. To my wife-sense, it's a pretty big deal that he was calm and objective when he told me. His work-a-holic pattern is to push himself until he is being as cruel to the world as he can be to himself. Calmly seeing and admitting he needs to rest is a new concept for his intense trophy conditioning.

SO has changed acronyms over recent weeks. She is no longer the "Significant Other." She has dumped the chump and is leaving ES to his bachelor slumbers. Sleep well, my middle-aged cherub. Yes, dear, 40 is the new 20. Whatever makes you feel better about your life. While ES continued his isolated slumber, she has been learning about Hubs' bee hives and studying up on the many, many products which can be made from the hive produce. With her enthusiastic approval, we have changed the way we introduce her from the various euphemisms of SO to Assistant Beekeeper. AB. Hubs and AB are looking like a pretty good team. Maybe. I donae have enough personal success in teamwork to be confident that I know what a good team looks like. There isnae a question to where ES got his passion for isolating. That one clearly is Mama's fault. Watching the isolating habit grow in my beloved son was/is a breakthrough in understanding why my Lone Wolf psychosis is more problem than solution. Works in progress. . . Old habits die hard.

AB has been working the hives and outyards of the Urban Homestead this week. She was due back yesterday, but the yaddahs hit the blahs and the return was postponed until today. Simultaneously, YS has been letting me know that GS (almost 5) has been campaigning for a ranch visit. I'm open to the grand time. YS is working to establish himself in a new job and was feeling stressed at the prospect of driving him up here. I was braced for the drive, but by some unseen miracle, the family network inside the Urban Homestead started talking to one another and decided to go for the efficiency of placing GS in the back of AB's vehicle. They should be here mid-afternoon.

The paint job in/on the honey barn has reached the artsy stages of cutting in the spots the rollers couldn't reach and experimenting with techniques for painting the honeycomb we are envisioning over the mustard yellow background. I don't know how much energy I will invest in that part since the job is still quite far from finished. The greater goal was to seal off the toxins and serve notice to the wildlife which have accumulated during the decades of neglect and apathy so that we can feel a bit safer while we tackle the job of removing the old milking system, etc.