Rumplestiltskin vs. Dragonflies
I totally get that. Since moving to Annandale, since divorcing, that is pretty much what I've been doing. It's more difficult than I thought it would be, recharging, but I'm sort of getting the hang of it. There are still bouts of anger and frustration over time wasted, and mourning over that which was lost and will probably be unrecoverable. I'm sure you know this one.
Fresh starts aren't really fresh, and they aren't really starts, either - more like picking up a knitting project and trying to remember where you wanted to go with it. Remembering how to knit, even. Deciding that some of those dropped stitches can just stay dropped and unravel later, because I'm old and no longer care about the competition.
Let there be holes in my armor. I don't believe anything can kill me any more.
One of the books I'm currently waffling includes the story of my life when it was the most awesome. It is damned difficult to revisit those times only to put them to sleep again. And here in my resting-state I entertain the processes it would take to do the cool things again. The math makes me tired, and I go back to recharging.
As a different friend said, "In farming there is always next year."