The pressure to document

I’m sitting here, drafting a post for my tiny house blog in another dashboard. Two weeks ago, our little house was delivered to our new location, in the town of Sebastopol. We’re not living in it full-time yet, though have moved and unpacked nearly all of our belongings and have spent the night in it once, last weekend. We’ve connected the water and propane but don’t have power yet, so we have three lanterns for lights and a small Goal Zero solar panel to charge our phones.

It sounds like it’s coming along. But the past few weeks have been very stressful, and while I love how our house looks, the thing has been a nightmare. I’ve told myself a few times, tears falling, that this was a mistake.

And so I’m trying to write about the experience, but I don’t have the energy. At first I thought, hey, this might be a miserable journey, but I’m a writer! This is material! I’ll have stories to tell! But I’m not sure I’m motivated enough to convert this stress and frustration into something else.

But maybe it’s too soon. Perhaps I’m just tired. I dislike this feeling that I’m supposed to document — that I need to face this screen and tell people, mainly strangers, what is going on in my life. I used to love that about blogging, but these days, it’s annoying as hell.

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