apocalypse « Robin Writes

Last week, the top of my shoulder was tender to the touch. Nothing else, particularly, that I could recall, but apparently I was having a fibro flare-up. It doesn’t do it often, in fact, so seldom that I rarely connect the dots. But, as occasionally happens, I read an article on fibromyalgia just yesterday.

And I did connect the dots. Again.

I was diagnosed, oh, eight years ago, I think. Obviously, I don’t take meds for it—my German ancestry says, “Suck it up, cupcake!” And I do, or at least I ignore the pain, most of the time. Until, that is, it knocks me out for a few days.

Another part of the problem—see title—is that, ever since I was a child, I’ve had this bad habit of holding my breath when I’m concentrating on something, physical work, writing, whatever. That makes for quicker exhaustion.

Heat doesn’t help, either. Back in the day, I rarely perspired; not from heat exhaustion or anything, just not much sweating in spite of temperatures or workload. Now, sheesh. I drip constantly!

Anyway, the pain part stinks. At night, I wake up a lot. From a tiny noise to a wrinkle in the sheets, or sweating, to pain in my hips from lying in one spot too long. And it really hurts. And when I do physical work, I tend to not only hold my breath but also work full speed ahead for 30 minutes or so before taking a break. Doesn’t help that I hate to leave a chore unfinished…

This week, down on the Farm, my husband is moving walls and electric stuff; I’m little help with this, although I’m learning. A little. Oh, I can hand him tools or search for screws, but that’s about it.

So I do other things—clean up, cook, wash dishes, pick up stuff, bag trash (always a lot that we’re still finding), run the weedeater, and work in the garden. I did all those things, from 8:00 a.m. until 11:00, and then I was done. Not sleepy, just exhausted. Heat index was 86, so there’s that.

You tell me—am I just being a big wuss and making excuses? Sometimes I feel like it…

I read an article the other day about “normalcy bias.” This can happen when something traumatic occurs, and people (in general) justify their reaction—things like “oh, it won’t happen” or “well, it’s really not that bad.” The author suggested that, in spite of what you may believe about SHTF, you prep to your comfort level or capabilities and then just a bit more.

So what are you doing?

We, of course, bought a place out in the middle of nowhere. Well, kind of. We’re about 25 miles from a town, which sounds close, but when was the last time you tried walking that far? Sure, the town’s population is around 4500, which is great for now, but if all those people are fanning out into the area, looking for supplies or shelter, it could be a problem—except that they’d need a way to get here, and there are a lot more places to stop or encroach upon between there and here.

We have a well, storage, supplies, a garden, a home. And the perimeter will be secure. We’re prepared to defend ourselves in many ways. We have a community of sorts, in the area, who are like-minded folks. In the next couple years, we’ll be even more prepared, and we’re hoping that’s enough time.

Time for what? Whatever happens. The rumors are always there, new ones every day, but you must, always, consider the sources. And not just TEOTWAWKI—interrupted supply chains, civil unrest, economic issues can all certainly cause problems for the average person.

Why prep? Why not? What’s wrong with using part of my barn for supply storage? If I decide to cook something for dinner, but don’t have it, I can walk up the drive and “shop” at my own store. If the grocery stores here aren’t restocked, then we’re still okay, for weeks or months.

Although I do have that one shelf with “stuff we’ll only eat if we’re actually starving.” You know, the things you always accumulate, somehow?

But how do you know if you’re doing enough?

Like they say, do what you’re comfortable with, and then a bit more. Take the garden, for example. If we need six hills of zucchini, I’ll plant eight; if we need a sixty-foot row of kale, I’ll plant 80. What if the deer get it? What if there’s a drought? Or a fire?

What if it’s a simple crop failure?

Then I take a look at all the things to be done yet: fencing, for instance. Our boundaries need repair, additions, and more security, yes, but at the moment, everything’s still okay. It is, however, a priority, but it’s also a huge job. Have you ever put in fencing? Barbed wire or hog wire or even split rail? Okay, that last is pasture fencing, but my point stands. I’ve strung all of those, and it’s not easy. Particularly when we’re not talking about a suburban lawn with all the marking flags, but thick woods and underbrush.

Water, food, shelter first. Then you can move on to security, and later, making things pretty and more comfortable. Remember too, that chores come first, every day, and then bigger projects. Doesn’t do you any good to put in a big garden if you don’t have the time or energy to tend it. Living on a farm or homestead or survival haven takes a lot of work, a lot of energy, every single day. Push yourself. Work to your limit, then a little more. Take breaks when you need to, of course, but the work comes first.