weeds

For a few weeks, a vine has been growing around the corner of the front yard, up the side of the house and around the corner to the electric meters.  Ordinarily I rip anything that I didn't plant out of the garden, but this wasn't in the way of anything else, and the greenery looked nice against the house walls.

Then this morning--big blue morning glories everywhere!  I exclaimed out loud when I saw them.  I'm very glad I left the plant well enough alone.  Lesson reinforced:  give the unknown the benefit of the doubt.

Crabgrass, on the other hand, is a known element, and must be ripped out one of these days when I have some extra time.  I meant to do some weeding yesterday, but dance practice plus a trip to Trader Joe's plus being just a teensy bit hungover resulted in very low energy levels.  No weeding will happen tonight, either, as I must practice more and I am already very tired, having slept wretchedly and dreamed about having to move, sad rabbits, being a fugitive, and other traumatic and threatening things.  I successfully managed to not remember during the day itself that yesterday was the date of my first wedding, but I guess some part of my brain was aware of it and wanted my consciousness to share the angst.  Grrr.  My first wedding was stupid; my second wedding was wonderful.   I'd like to pretend that the first one never happened, but I suppose that's the thing about the past, you can't really rewrite it, not if you're honest with yourself.

From weeding to wedding.  Funny how the mind works.

(no subject)

At lunchtime I went and got a delicious avocado and brie wrap from the Turkish place down the street (because nothing says Turkey like avocado and brie).  As I walked back to my office, I saw a man quickly yet furtively open a black mini-van and pull out a stretcher with somebody lying on it.  I was just wondering what medical clinic was in that building when I noticed that the person's head was covered and I realized that it was a side entrance to the funeral home at Beacon and Comm Ave.  The man, who I then noticed was wearing the solemn sort of suit one might see David Fisher wearing, saw me watching.  The oddest expression went across his face, a combination of "I've been caught"/"what the hell are you looking at" and I felt oddly guilty to be standing on a streetcorner on a sunny day with a nice sandwich.  Not guilty because of the dead person, but a little guilty because this guy has to scuttle around and try to surruptitiously unload bodies on one of Boston's busier streets.

I hope the sandwich he had for lunch was at least as good as mine.