But what does it all mean?

I've found myself wanting to post something here many times over the last week and a half, but I didn't because there's so much going on, and I don't know how to tie it up in a nice bow. Because at the end of the day I'm a story teller, and stories have, on at least one level, meaning. Perhaps this does, too, but I don't know what it is yet. Or maybe I do, but then my options are limited. That's not a story I want to keep telling.

Well, here at least is what happened. 

I am no longer a garden coordinator at the garden I've been in for fifteen years. I agonized for a long time, but when I finally made my decision I was done. All of the different stakeholder groups are dysfunctional, even if among them there are some wonderful people trying their best to do their jobs. This has been the case for a long time, but when people couldn't rise to the challenge of dealing with a rat issue--and, not incidentally, fulfill their contract obligations--that crossed a line for me. I could say so much more, but out of respect for friends still there, I won't. 

That was last Saturday, and the stress of it was enough that on Sunday morning I developed a neck spasm that didn't ease up until the evening. I thought I would be done with physical therapy on Monday, but the spasm earned me not only two more sessions, but also a gentle lecture on stress management. Indeed. 

The therapist also gave my thoracic spine an adjustment. I've never has one of those before, and it was disorienting. It also let loose a lot of blocked emotions, and a weird rash. Dramatic, but not something I would chase.

In the meantime, I felt pulled to mind body workouts as I thought about my eczema, and after a week of experimentation, I settled on qigong with Lee Holden. I still love Lucy Wyndham-Read, but I feel the detox effects with qigong in a different way. Fortunately, there is no one saying I can't do both.

I can say all of that was helping me manage my stress better, because when I found my sister's caretaker sleeping in the early evening (while my sister was awake), I knew I needed to make a change but I did so with a minimum of drama (thanks in large part to one of my other sisters). I've been at the house in the suburbs since Friday morning, and while I would rather my husband and I be home with our young adult son, I am much calmer and even content than I was in a similar situation last year. 

The situation is in flux, though, so I was extremely fortunate that I was so close to my goal of 1000 calls at the beginning of the week. Happy to report that by Wednesday I had completed them, because I'm not sure when I'll be able to get on a call again. My husband and I need to celebrate, but not sure how yet. 

On Thursday, my last hurrah in the city, my husband and I went to a social with some other activists. I was as awkward as I ever am, and powered through as I usually do. It was fine; I met some nice people, but as usual I'm sensitive to power dynamics and calibrate accordingly. If I'm ever exhausted by social interactions, it's because of that. 

So that's my story, such as it is. 

Deb in the City