Crawling from the wreckage

"JAYSIS, Andraste," I hear you say, "why don't you update this frigging thing while we're all still continent, for the LOVE of PETE."

Welllll...just you be careful what you wish for. That's all I'm saying.

Been planning my gardens. PLURAL, bitches. That's right. We have not just a yard, we have grounds. Okay, they're not very big, but they're distinct areas, so let me live the joy, will you. This house has a back yard, and a front yard, and all kinds of little thought about areas that need filling in with lovely flowering plants, herbs, ground covers, evergreens and whatever else. But first I have to do some destroying. You should see the nasty, dead old plantings the previous owner left in the front yard - KeeeeRYST, it looks like someone released poisonous gas over some weak, alien cabbages. I don't know what they are, or were supposed to be, but they don't do a thing but sit there, looking moldy and sullen. "What do you expect us to do," they ask, "Photosynthesize?" No, actually, because you're being torn the fuck out, you useless, ugly, cheerless little bastards. Just as SOON as I get a day off that isn't pishing doon with RAIN. So don't get too comfortable.

Maybe someone who imagines antagonistic conversations with dead greenery shouldn't really be sharing it on a blog. But I am unwell.

Oh yeah, the unwell part. Thought I had spring allergies, but the mild cough and sniffles turned out to be a head cold, which in turn, turned out to be the plague. Maybe I got a dose of the same poison gas that destroyed the alien quasi-cabbages, but I've been coughing things up that I could put in a stroller and take shopping. It is vile.

What else is there. The house is a mess, Spouse is now sick too. You should hear that...no, you shouldn't. Nevermind that.

Things to do, things to do...