on garde(n).

holy crap!!
cyle knows his way around a shovel, ninjas!
i had some duders come over yesterday
to sweat a couple quarts of humanity right out,
and maybe move some of my heroic dirt mass around.
mountains of loam and raised beds-
delivered dirt and purchased plants-
they aren't going to landscape themselves, it turns out.
believe me, i know;
i actually waited to see if they'd start.
once the waiting period was up, though,
it became clear enogh that active participation was needed.
so we got busy;
i even rented a tiller.
yeah.
a tiller.
i tilled 'til i couldn't till no more!
(and shredded my hands off in the process)
jim and harvest and maple all helped, too.
and then cyle showed up and got butt-nasty on all the planting.
hoses, and holes, and heaps of humus.
dang.
we ran out of plants well before we even came close.
y'know,
coming up short on the yardages of yard-dirt.
there's still some healthy heaps, neighbors.
even a completely untouched dune, too.
and we need more plants.
...believe it or not, that's good news.
luscious landscaping, mutha-b!tches.
it's happening.
tall grasses and ground cover are next on the menu.
and mulch.
always more mulch.
***********
we've got holes to dig,
holes to fill,
grass to mow,
grass to rake,
plants to water,
plants to buy,
and a whole lot of real life to live.
home improvements, an' that.
my brain case isn't even working at half-capacity.
i may have boiled off some vital nutrients yesterday.
hard work yard work, kids-
now,
i don't normally doo-doo that kind of thing,
and my spindly arms are feeling the fury today.
did i sleep as hard as i ever have?
yep.
did i sweat out a nile's worth of juice?
yep.
is it still stupid hot out?
yep.
am i still tired as F*?
yep.
do my darling daughters give even half of a flying sh!t
about ANY of that?
noooooooope.
they're kids, y'all.
it's not their job to care.
it's their job to have big fun,
and to put adulthood in perspective;
from that vantage point,
grown-upness kinda eats it. hard.
great news.
if you duders are lookin' for me,
i'll be the tired, sweaty, sore, hot and hairy fella
tatzappin' a torrential tide of turdbiters.
i do tattoos.
sure.
whatever and wherever on whomever-
sometimes that means i nibble on some poop,
so to speak.
gimme some money.
g.s.m.
click your ink caps together three times,
and repeat the magic words.
gimme.
some.
money.
those leafy jauns aren't gonna buy themselves, right?
grown-upness.
hard times;
never quiet, never soft.....