The unbearable everywhereness of hustle culture

I’m writing this to you from the sunny (for now) patio of a rental cottage as far from civilization as it’s possible to get, and still be in Ireland. My closest neighbors are sheep; my next-closest neighbors are cows; after that it’s a pair of Irish cob horses, one grey and one spotted. Then the actual neighbor, John, who is lovely and came by to check on us our first night here to make sure we had everything we needed. And to let us know his sheep might come graze the lawn but “would be no bother.”

I need some more practice with the local accent. I am really ashamed of how hard I found it to understand him.

The closest town is Caherciveen, and that’s 20 minutes away and consists of a high street and a grocery store and some houses, population about 1000. The countryside is gorgeous. We’re just out of sight of the Atlantic but we’re going to visit it tomorrow. And hopefully I will get to go for a ride along the beach, weather permitting.