hard work

We went to the farmers market this morning on our way to visit our friend and her baby.

We ended up buying some art from a vendor there.  He told us the stories of making the art.  I gave him an apple-tasting zine, and he hugged us solemnly.

He told me the last zine I gave him, he felt a lot of feelings reading it.  He said he would go traveling by himself, just him and his backpack, and have lots of sad times.  I was surprised because usually I hear about people being so happy when they travel.

But I remember when Ming and I went to Canada, it was hard work.  There were painful moments--getting scolded by a mean mother on a crowded bus, being expected to act super social with couchsurfing hosts, being shamed for needing rest.  Not to mention the border crossings, detained and questioned separately, car searched.

Well, I freaked out yesterday.  I was overwhelmed, preparing for our big event.  There's too much stuff in our house, and then the event means bringing more in--lots of food, coolers, cambros, paper towels, trash bags...

People arrived to drop something off, I thought, but then one wanted to stay the night.  He was very social, and his need to talk didn't match my need to rest and be quiet.  I was bad at setting boundaries.  He walked into our kitchen.  I listened and sympathized, but I could feel the tiny amount of energy I had slipping away.

It's a windy night.  The windchimes are banging out there.  I cleaned off the left side of my desk and dusted.  Moved some empty jars away.

Wish us luck.  There are the problems, then a painful way of reacting to problems.  I wish I could be more calm sometimes, but I'm only human.  We're working on it.