Right now, I hurt. I'm pretty sure I also stink. That's okay, though, because there are two new flower beds filled with balloonflowers, campanula, astilbe, lamium, geraniums, clematis, delphiniums and other good stuff. I've planted 30 of the 57 plants from Spring Hill, and will probably get the rest done in dribs and drabs evenings this week. I'm just too sore to finish the job today. I sat down here intending just to catch my breath and then go shower before I go get dog food, but I think instead I will change my clothes, throw a baseball cap on my disgusto hair, and run out and get the dog food.
Then, when I come home, I will have the longest, hottest shower on record, and collapse in a puddle in whatever piece of furniture I reach first.
This was supposed to be a profound essay on gardening and the peace it brings me, but tellwiddit. I can't manage profundity when my body is screeching at me.
6 comments:
Actually, hot shower and furniture puddling sounds like peace and tranquility to me.
Peace and tranquility, yes. Eloquence and profundity, no.
Alas for my lost thoughtfulness.
I hate you.
My marigolds that I planted, thinking that no one can kill marigolds, are dying.
A pox upon you.
I didn't sneak out to your yard and kill your marigolds!
It was probably that demon dog of yours. :-p
*grumble*
I have a black thumb and a need to cast blame.
I have chosen to cast it at thee.
*grumble*
Trust me, MissGrumblyBlackThumb, if anyone is sucking out the gardening energy, it's me mum. She's got two flourishing yards to my one.
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