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Today’s Exercise in Futility

I started to write this on Facebook, but it was so lengthy I realized it might be better off as a blog post. 

Let me just ask you if you’ve ever had a day like this… 

This morning, I moved our strawberry plant from the garden to a pot. (Those wascally wabbits keep nibbling our ripe berries.)

Then, I weeded the plot the strawberry plant had been in. After I did that, I planted some new seeds in that plot — Swiss chard, asparagus, basil, and lavender. Since I wasn’t then sweaty and disgusting enough, I dug out a flower box (that was basically just weeds) next to our back door and put in some sand to use as a “dig pit” for Winnie. (I need to get more sand, though. 50 pounds wasn’t enough, apparently.)

I was REALLY revolting by then, so I took a shower and changed clothes.

A few hours later, on a whim I grabbed our grass scissors and started to clear out the grass that was growing a little too thickly around the flowers in our front yard. (The cord we use for our weedeater isn’t long enough to reach those areas.) I swear I thought it wouldn’t take long and I’d be done in maybe 10 minutes. 

I don’t know what I was thinking. It took far longer than 10 minutes… maybe because I then felt the need to go to our large rosebush by the garage and clear out the massive amount of grass growing around it. However long it took me to clear away the grass around our smaller flowers, it probably took me twice as long to clear away the rosebush grass. (Sigh.) 

Then, for good measure, I thought that I really ought to water all the flowers, or at least the most newly-planted ones. Our water spigot is on the front of the house, and our flower beds are on the other side of our driveway, just in front of the side of our house. (What I’m getting at is that a lot of pulling and dragging and untangling of hose had to happen before the watering could commence.)

So now, what I thought would take 10 minutes took at least an hour, and I’m sweaty and disgusting again. (Not quite as sweaty or disgusting as last time, though. Yay?)

The moral of this story may very well be: never shower until your Saturday is over. Only that will never happen, because I cannot remain sweaty and disgusting for long. I have to shower the moment I’m done with any job that has left me sweaty. 

Perhaps the moral should really be that showers are a good thing. Embrace them. 

Or perhaps the moral is just, there is no moral to this story. I’m a weirdo, that’s all. 

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