I've done it again. I've almost killed myself, weeding in the hot sun. I took plenty of breaks and drank lots of water but fuck if I don't feel like I might die.
Why do I do this? Why do I get so OCD about things that I lose my mind?
My hands are completely worn out. I have the grip strength of a newborn kitten. My forearms are burning from the twisting, pulling. When I close my eyes, I see nutgrass. My knees hurt, my legs hurt, I'm sunburnt.
I'm crazy. That's all there is to it. Just crazy as a betsy bug, crazy as a loon, crazy as an old southern woman who is crazy.
Cue up the gin bottle and nylon slip with the yellowed underarms.
I'm walking around whimpering and here's the stupidest thing- two days ago I was walking around whimpering because I ached so much and felt so shitty. So then I feel better and I seem determined to make myself sick again.
It's not even time to put in the fall garden yet. The watermelons are still going crazy.
I will say this- all that mulching I did earlier in the year sure does make the weeding easier. That is the truth and I want to do it again. I want to have the prettiest fall and winter garden in the world!
It'll look just like it always does with some collards and arugula and a few weird looking lettuces.
I sure would like to grow some more of those purple carrots this year though, along with some beets.
I found an old, rusted plow point in the garden today. I always get a bit of a thrill when I find relics from the past around here. I'm not the first person to sweat on this dirt. I also found a few potatoes sprouting from some we missed when we dug them up. I let them be.
I'm going to go make some supper. I'm going to have to drag Mr. Moon in from the garage. He's been out there all day building deer stands. Yes. Deer stands.
He came to check on me at one point and said, "I love to build things."
"I wish you'd build me a table," I said. "Or an outdoor sink."
"I will," he said. "Some day."