Responsiveness Fatigue

Is this a thing?

Have you heard of it?

No, I haven’t either. Compassion fatigue, yes. Outrage fatigue, yes. But these terms don’t describe what I periodically feel.

I have decided to call this species of ennui: Responsiveness Fatigue. I manage it by allowing myself to completely tune out here and there, when I can. Some do it regularly. It’s called ‘the Weekend’. That’d be your normal person who works nine-to-five Monday-to-Friday and chills out on Saturday and Sunday. But I am not normal.

tree root photo

a wise old tree with vertical roots
ahhh

My art, therapy, coaching, caring way of life has forgotten what a weekend looks like. I choose to live a not-normal life, which has multiple benefits and generally, I’d rather be ensconced in a quiet frenzy of paint and paper on a wooden dining table than be out on the bright harbour water-skiing.

It’s just that sometimes I require a particular type of downtime, which involves

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Middle-aged Crazy Art Lady

What will YOU do on your artist date?

So I’m in the middle of a national park, in the middle of a bad hair decade. Decade.

I can’t avoid the fact that I’m a Middle-aged Crazy Lady wearing baggy pants, collecting plastic junk fragments from the beach. Plastic junk fragments.

Not to throw away, like any Sensible Middle-aged Crazy Lady does, but to PLAY with, as any Unsensible Middle-aged Crazy Art Lady does.
Plus oyster shells, seaweed and string. Treasures.

Beach Mandala found object sculpture

Beach Mandala
plastic, shelly, junky, funky, probably smelly and washed away by now

A gaggle of teenage girls walks past and

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