Today I was so relieved to be leaving the house, thinking about the prospect of leaving anyway, but before I did leave I ended up fiddling with the website again. It almost felt like I had no job, was retired and going to a class like the rich people seem to have time to do. Then I would be a brain flash about, oh wait, what day is it, do I have to work at the ferry today, no, it’s my day off, the reason I could be going to the class, leaving the house.
Because of the chickens, I have learned in the two weeks I have had them, that I need to leave at least a half hour earlier than I would have in the past, bc, before chickens. At least these chickens. Dearly loved but in an improper life. Like me.
Sweet coop with an upstairs enclosure and the smallest area of ground to scratch in. Like me in my upstairs apartment with the smallest area of ground to have a garden on and now the chickens. I mourn and grieve in the loss of the past and try to be happy with the ground I have and the upstairs view. Every day I try to be happy. When I see the homeless people I should be relieved to be in my upstairs coop, but I am always struck with guilt that I could ever not call it home. It is my home now.