So, it being the 4th of July and my having a rare
weekend off from work, I had grand plans today of weeding the rockery. For
those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s British for “rock garden.” Yes,
I know I’m in America now. Thank you for asking.
Anyway, I’m not even sure it really is a rockery. For a long
time I thought it was a French drain, but it doesn’t seem to have a pipe of any
kind in it and it’s not actually draining anything. It just sits there, looking
rocky, growing weeds, and collecting insects and dead grass clippings. It is
the ugliest fucking thing ever.
So, I thought I was going to pull all the weeds out of this
thing, remove the rocks, lay down some gardening fabric to prevent the
re-growth of said weeds, and then replace the rocks. All in one day. Because,
after 31 years of life, I not only don’t know myself at all, but also lack a
fundamental grasp of reality. Needless to say, I did not weed the rockery. I
weeded about half of it, before I was like “Fuck this, it’s a holiday, I’m
getting sunburnt, I’m hungry, and why the fuck do I have a rock garden anyway?
GOD HAS PUT THIS ROCK GARDEN HERE TO SPITE ME FOR NOT BELIEVING IN HIM.”
 |
| FUCKING GOD. |
But seriously though, why do I even have a rock garden? It doesn’t
serve a purpose. It just sits there like an asshole, requiring me to spend
entirely too much time pulling weeds out of it and getting glared at by big-ass
spiders and stuff. For that matter, why even have a lawn at all? Whose idea was
that? I’ll tell you who – some English lord with a bajillion serfs to do all
the mowing and weeding and rockery-spider-wrangling for him. “I say, old chap,
this gardening business is smashing.
Let’s go throw some peasants in the haha.” Fuck that.
If I had known how much of a pain the ass home ownership was
going to turn out to be, I’d never have purchased one. No one said anything
because misery loves company.
When I was house-shopping, I was all into my “outdoor space.”
I was all, “I want some nice outdoor space!” And yes, going outside is lovely.
I do it at least once a week. In any case I have two porches and if you’re not good with numbers, that’s more
porches than I can use at one time. I could have gotten a condo with a balcony or
one of those gardens that somebody else mows. At least, I could have gotten a home
on a smaller lot. I could have gotten a home on a flat lot. I mean, my home isn’t exactly clinging to the side of a
cliff or anything, but even a small incline is a bit much when you’re pushing a
mower and it’s hotter than 40 hells outside. How am I supposed to mow the lawn
when it’s hotter than a stainless steel toilet seat in the Sahara? It’s
madness, I tell you, madness. I mean, no one’s going to fine me because I live
in the middle of nowhere, but not mowing the lawn attracts snakes and ground
wasps and one of my neighbors, so I have to do it.
