10/29/10
10/13/10
back (from the dead, for a day or two, at least)
(wipes cobwebs off keyboard, limbers up dirt-crusted fingers, takes a deep breath . . . )
Actually, I wasn't away, or rather dead, just busy with other stuff. Well, I might have been (dead) at some point, but not during this lifetime (that I know of). I was away, and for this I blame Facebook. NO, I wasn't there instead of here. I spent just enough time to know that I needed to stay away. One thing led to another, and next thing I know--I've been missing for months. But I'm back (for the moment, anyway).
The chilluns continue to fly the coup. They come, they go. I celebrate, I mourn. Dante has another couple of years (actually, a year and a half) before he is done with HS, but since my divorce, he comes and goes. And now that he has a heartthrob, he comes and goes, but his going is more subtle, err, rather, his going doesn't always involve a physical absence.
New grass is growing in the front yard. I seeded the bare spots, so this is no great surprise. What is a little strange, however, is that rather than feeling happy that my labor paid off, I am irritated. This is not me--someone who worries over her lawn--but it is. Hell, I have signs in my yard (well, one) that warns certain neighbors to keep their dogs the hell off. I don't threaten them with wardens or any "official" response, but with snail bait. It's actually the non-toxic variety--beer and pet-safe pellets--but the neighbors are none the wiser. And actually, they're not my neighbors. These inconsiderate dog walkers might live in the neighborhood, but not next door to me. I get on fine with the folks whose yards border mine, but the guy across the street, well, that's another matter. My issue with him is leaves. . . .
Actually, I wasn't away, or rather dead, just busy with other stuff. Well, I might have been (dead) at some point, but not during this lifetime (that I know of). I was away, and for this I blame Facebook. NO, I wasn't there instead of here. I spent just enough time to know that I needed to stay away. One thing led to another, and next thing I know--I've been missing for months. But I'm back (for the moment, anyway).
The chilluns continue to fly the coup. They come, they go. I celebrate, I mourn. Dante has another couple of years (actually, a year and a half) before he is done with HS, but since my divorce, he comes and goes. And now that he has a heartthrob, he comes and goes, but his going is more subtle, err, rather, his going doesn't always involve a physical absence.
New grass is growing in the front yard. I seeded the bare spots, so this is no great surprise. What is a little strange, however, is that rather than feeling happy that my labor paid off, I am irritated. This is not me--someone who worries over her lawn--but it is. Hell, I have signs in my yard (well, one) that warns certain neighbors to keep their dogs the hell off. I don't threaten them with wardens or any "official" response, but with snail bait. It's actually the non-toxic variety--beer and pet-safe pellets--but the neighbors are none the wiser. And actually, they're not my neighbors. These inconsiderate dog walkers might live in the neighborhood, but not next door to me. I get on fine with the folks whose yards border mine, but the guy across the street, well, that's another matter. My issue with him is leaves. . . .
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