I went outside to water the garden, and on a whim I tugged at one of the many grassy stalks invading the place. Then I couldn’t stop. I just kept grabbing and tugging and throwing the vines away. Turns out maybe my garden is dying because I never weed it? Poor little tomatoes were all choked up in weeds.
Now I am once again adorned by seventy-two mosquito bites.
I should probably be honest–I’m not entirely sure if I have seventy-two mosquito bites. I MIGHT have that many, except I’m too afraid to count them. Every other day, I garden, and I come home with at least 10-15 new bites on each leg (and a couple more on each arm. mosquitos do not seem to like my arms? I wish I could make the rest of me somehow like my arms. Or one giant arm). Rest assured, though, I have many mosquito bites. More than you.
Today was sleeping in and spooning the cat and cinnamon raisin bagels with cream cheese and driving to the lake and scaring away the snakes and floating on noodles and eating carrots and crackers in the shade. We even talked about fried pickles on the way home, which is not as good as real fried pickles, but better than nothing.
Up next is a couple hours of card games and then barbecue with boyfriend and then board games and watermelon cake.
I’m just going to ignore the creeping anxiety about my DJ set email being ignored. It’s not like the radio show isn’t tomorrow or anything.