That'll larn me

I shouldn't indulge myself in frivolity. It's a bit like those bullocks one sees frolicking before going to the abattoir. Maybe they do it cos they know the end is nigh, or maybe the farmer gets rid of them cos he can't stand bovine breakdancing any longer. The frolic may be cause, effect, or coincidental. But it always happens at just the wrong time.

The moment I attempt even the teeniest frolic, the phone rings and someone wants to talk about sad stuff. Now, I don't mind this at all. I can be of use if there is no solution and listening is all. And I can be of use if solutions must be found.

But when someone is unhappy yet again about the bloody obvious yet again, desiring a solution yet again provided it's not the one they dislike (i.e, the one that will work)yet again, where the hell does that leave us?

I know where it leaves me. Headache-ridden and stressed is where it leaves me.

People have the right to be idiots. They have the right to be stubborn. They have the right to believe the most stupid things ever conceived in the development of sentience, they have the right to cling to absurd ideas and misinformation, they have the right to prefer deception over perception, they have the right to cry rather than analyse, they have, in short, the right to total denial.

But they don't have the right to do it near me.

Oh well. No trips without a tripper, I guess.

Time to beat my head against a pillow.

Fear Me

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Summer is coming

I have shaved the garden.

Some of the inmates of my imbolc seed trays are outside pushing up towards imaginary sunlight. Others are very dead, Jim.

Loads of my conservatory favourites should have stayed there. The petunias and gourds were doing really well until they met the outside world. At least the little people of the grass have stuffed their faces.

Today, I look at the garden and think; facing west, very exposed to wind and sun, rain and snow (we get it all here) good soil for drainage but lots of lumps and bumps, needs heathers and alpines and wildflowers. It might not be conventionally pretty but it feels right. And if I could add to that a small population of happy flightless birds, a miniature chalk maze, a green man in the corner and rose trees around the conservatory...

I think Larians is being very unfair. He's given me carte blanche with the garden provided that I don't overspend (unlikely considering the vast empty spaces in my bank account) or fill it with livestock.
Where, I ask you, is the point in that?

Had a dream about owning/being left a massive garden recently. Must find out what Jung has to say about peas on a trellis.

No, LJ, I am still not doing a proper update. Entries like this should make it obvious that work is driving me mad.

A little death

One of Freak's latest litter has gone.

She booted its corpse up to the surface. Can't have died too long ago, or she'd have eaten it; gerbil moms very seldom eat their young unless the little ones cop it, and then they chow down on the bod so the smell won't attract predators to the nest.

It was cold when I picked it up. I tried massaging its little heart back to life for some time, but it is thoroughly and irretrievably dead. Nature's way I suppose.

I buried it in the lemon tree pot.