How does your garden grow?

You know what the definition of "insane" is? Going over to other people's houses to help them with yard work, when you yourself bought a house with no yard because you hate yard work. To quote Jack Black - "Cuckoo!" Complete with the finger circling the area near the ear.

I don't like grass. I don't like dirt. I don't like bugs. I don't like dirt or bugs to be on me. Flowers make me sneeze. I have delicate skin that will tear and blister because a garden implement is within 6 inches. And most of all, I don't like hard labor. Some people are built for physical activity. I'm built for long naps. About the hardest labor that I take any satisfaction in is shaking a cocktail shaker.

But, in spite of that, I've spent 3 consecutive weekends helping other people with their yard work. It defies all logic. And as consequence, I hurt like hell. The body that does not enjoy the bendy-twisty-lifty thing is triple pissed at me. And who can blame it? There were perfectly good naps that I could have been taking instead. Instead, I'm making the "ahwoof" sound every time I try to sit, stand, turn or bend. Plus, for the third Monday in a row, I've arrived at work looking like I've spent the weekend bare knuckle fighting. Tore up, scratched up, bruised up hands. Insane. This is no way for a petite flower to live.

And the worst of it comes from the only gardening activity I even remotely enjoy. Trimming things. And to get out of playing in the dirt, I'll always grab the loppers and head for the nearest tree, bush, trees or unruly palm. I love taking my clippers and snipping them into submission. A branch here. A twig there. Snip snip. Rather satisfying. But then of course, you have to clean up after yourself and cut the big branches into tiny bits so they'll fit in the garbage. Which is probably why my hands now feel like I spent the weekend free climbing El Capitan. I'll say it again, this is not way for a petite flower to live.