Moony

I must be moonstruck or something.

Yep, out in the garden again, ferociously attacking the bulbs of the White Ginger, clearing away roots and old leaves otherwise the stuff grows back. The dog - bless her communications skills - came over for a sniff, then widdled on a cleared patch. I had to agree, it's a shitty, back-breaking job and I'd been at it for a couple of hours. Time for a break?

The sun beat down, I was out of shade and it seemed like a good idea. But, no. I figured I'd just tidy up, oh, and tug out that last bit of root, cut off that last bulb, clear away the detritus, snip off a couple of branches of a tree whose name I don't know...

Good sense fails me sometimes. So here I sit, muscles hurting right down to my fingernails, face tingling with sunburn and paranoid I've picked up some tiny spider that's lightly brushing my skin under my shirt. I get manic about stuff like that; creeps me out and if I think about it too much, the job will only ever be half done.

Good news? I have a heap of greenery to cut down and a heap of busted bulbs - all off to the waste recycling at the dump. Bad news? I'm only half done and my zeal is waning in the face of physical torture.

It. Must. Be. Done. Or by Summer, I'll be back where I started with a large patch of White Ginger to cut down and dig out again. If I'd only left it alone...

Oi... I'm going for a long, long soak, and not think about bashing bulbs with the mattock.