Purl Onion

Because my time is apparently worth dick.

I spent nearly two hours in the car this morning trying to meet my husband and his students for a field trip, getting ridiculously mired in traffic, listening to the baby lose her patience in the back, and ultimately turning the fuck around and driving home.

On the way home, I stopped at the garden store to get replacement starter plants for our garden. Why am I planting in June? Well, because the seeds I started in April got accidentally killed when my well-meaning husband put them outside too early. The scraggly seedlings were windblown and couldn’t recover. So I replanted and transplanted and even bought a couple starters for good measure, but within 24 hours of getting round two in the ground. a mother fucking groundhog ate everything. Everything. I will murder the shit out of him if I ever catch him said the ex-vegan. I am not lying. 

So before I could try again, I had to get over my complete and total rage. I am not over it, but I got over it enough to re-weed the garden which I had let become overrun, go to home depot to buy fence-making supplies and then make Matt build a fence because I was too angry after all that weeding. 

Did I mention that all of this is getting done with one working wrist (more about that some other time) between working three jobs and with a never-still 11 month old around? Equals, it is all getting done very, very slowly, over the course of weeks and months, in fifteen to fifty minute intervals.

But, of course, there are no vegetables left at the garden store because it is fucking June. 

And so, I now have a fenced in plot of dirt. And so much anger and disbelief lodged in my body that my joints are constantly clenched and my stomach hurts.

It is times like this when I really, really miss smoking.