Where do those songs come from? The ones that pop into your head out of your internal music box's ancient history? I had dropped something and said, "Oh, Susan." Sigh. "Susan, Susan bo-boosan, bananafana fofoosan, fee fi momoosan, Susan." For those of you youngsters that think I have finally gone off my rocker, that is from a dusty old song, called "The Name Game". It ranks right up there on an intellectual level with "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini". Never heard of either? Go to your room!!! Kidding. But where, in Heaven's name, did this song come from? I feel like my brain has one of those jukebox-type-thingies and it whirls around of its own accord - slipping a song out of a record sleeve (never heard of those, either, have you, you whippersnappers...) and pops it onto the phonograph (oh, never mind.)
I have been mightily musing about the nuances of denial, stubbornness, and genetic make-up. I have plenty of both denial and stubbornness, which is enhanced by my German/English/Welsh/French heritage. Plus, I still have that nugget of child's brain that refuses to mature. And, let's not forget pride and ego, both of which I am not lacking, being human and all.
By now, y'all are saying, "Yes, yes, but blah, blah, blah, what is the point here?"
The point is, I have realized that I cannot be and am not, the picture of single-homesteader-almighty that I had convinced myself that I was, is, am. It is a shock, I tell you. (Didn't I tell you I was Cleo, Queen of De-Nial?) As should be obvious to anyone who has read these rambling posts for a couple of years now, I exist in a slurry of random thoughts most of the time. I realized this was the child-nugget-brain (sounds like a great theme for a bad sci-fi movie, doesn't it?) running interference so that the mature part of my brain would not be able to focus on reality. Wow, there's a sentence for you.
A daily conversation within my mind goes something like this: MB (mature brain) "OMG, the goats have destroyed part of the fence again." NB (nugget brain) "lalalalalalala". MB: Why am I always so tired? NB: Hey! I have time to put fencing around that raised bed! I don't have to leave for work for another 15 minutes!
See the problem? Well, MB has finally muscled to the frontal lobe and things are going to have to change. Can't say that I'm not disappointed, but I am not disillusioned. NB refuses to release its hold on the vision of Homesteader Susan Extraordinare, which is just fine with MB and me. But, in the meantime, I've let go of the beekeeper vision and will be letting go of the dairygoatmaid vision. I remain a fulltime employee off-stead, single person with two hands (maybe two-and-a-half, if I squint my eyes and go with NB), gardener, keeper of the homestead, shepherdess and flock tender. And fighter of all things rodentia. That will have to do for now.