I quieted myself. No, I didn’t go underground in isolation. Sometimes, you just need to step back and reevaluate, seek clarity of mind, and step into your own light.
My covid winter was abuzz with activity even though I rarely left the house. Volunteer work for a local community organization was and still is my link to the outside world. I edit their 10 page monthly newsletter. Articles and other content arrive via email so it’s mostly copy, paste, arrange and format. I write the fillers; look for things to fill pages that might be of interest to readers. I also serve on the board and virtually chair a committee.
This old house got my stimulus. I bought lumber, flooring, paint, tools & supplies, some art supplies, a new ceiling fan, chair height toilet, and a frikkin 5 burner stove.
Yeah, the counter is fake. It’s temporary, just laminated with contact paper because a sink and new countertops were not in the budget.
It’s a work in progress. What I want to do and can do are not the same. Straight up, disability sucks as it is hard to find people who actually follow through on what I hire them to do.
Everyone thinks their time is worth 40 an hour, too. Now I expect to pay professional rates when hiring licensed skilled professionals or independent contractors with legit businesses and normal overhead, but when I’m hiring someone’s unemployed weedhead brother to do simple things a 12 year old could do, I don’t want to pay more than 15 an hour. Actually, 9 to 12 is fair… that’s what a contractor would pay if they got hired to do the exact same things.
I called a temp agency and asked about hiring part-time day labor. They don’t do that. Maybe I should hire a 12 year old, my granddaughter. I can argue with her when she thinks her time is worth 20.