I had thought that, working on a farm, my work would stay at work. That I wouldn't bring anxiety home. There'd be no fretting about deadlines or unfinished work or what's waiting for me tomorrow.
And I was wrong.
In the middle of the night, in my mostly dream state, I spend the wee hours rooting around my bed looking for lost tomato plants. I plant potatoes. I weed. I harvest cabbage, collards, and chard. Under my pillow, on top of the covers, on my nightstand--I pat everything down and try to just get the job done. And I have thoughts like, "How did I get out here in my jammers? How can I do the harvest without bending over?" I walk over to the bathroom and put on my robe, thinking that will make my lack of clothing less embarrassing for me and everyone else in the field. I see the light from my laptop and wonder what I was thinking when I brought that out to the field. I see Burton's sleeping body and wonder why he's being such a slouch when there's so much work to do. Sometimes I even put on my Cartharts before I figure it all out.
And then, feeling like a total ass (again), I crawl back into bed and try to get some sleep before the next harvest.