Fantastic, I now have a rash on both my arms from all that grass pulling. "It'll build character," he said. Thanks dad. The yard has been mowed, so it would seem that my grass encounter has come to an end.... or it will, just as soon as the stench of this infernal grass is longer detectable.
I wonder if I should do something more productive. As someone once put it, a writer's block is just a fancy way of saying you're lazy. It's much less strain to write a blog that nobody is even going to read than it is to write creatively. Also I need to fill my sketchbook with more pigeons and other such nonsense. Pigeons are all the rage these days. I have a good friend who adores pigeons and other birds. She's lovely, and I thought the pigeon craze was self-contained, but now.... Sometimes pigeons have got nothing to do with her, but I feel like she's secretly the mastermind behind all pigeons. I have too much jumbled in my brain to consider starting another story, but one day I want to write a story about a crazy bird lady.
Showing posts with label weeds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weeds. Show all posts
Thursday, July 19, 2012
The Second Most Tedious Day
As I had feared, my dad wanted me to pull more grass today. He woke me up at around 8 a.m. so that I could get started. Joy of joys. "It builds character," he said. It's good for you," he said. What a crock of nonsense if I ever heard it. I could think of any number of things less tedious that would also be good for me. Apparently grass pulling is the new bicycling (actually I haven't ridden a bike in years). I'm sure going for a long walk would also be good for me, too. Nothing says character building quite as much as ripping out long stalks of grass while strange little bugs nip at exposed flesh.
In a sense it was more bearable despite the aching legs and neck and arms I now had. My sibling offered his music for me to listen to while I worked. He's got good taste in music. I didn't really come across a song I didn't like. I think it made the work go faster, though I still can't figure out what exactly is the deal with this rusty substance that keeps getting all over my hands. It's not from the sod itself, so I guess it's a mystery substance. I also realized that the roots go down a lot deeper than one would think. There were a couple stubborn weeds, and in the few instances where I bothered to actually dig the whole thing up, I saw how far down they went and knew the futility of the struggle.
My limbs reached the uncontrollable shaking stage, and I could hardly walk in a straight line after awhile. Considering I was mostly on my own this time, I did pull up quite a decent amount. Unfortunately the yard, which continues to mock me with its stupid vastness, still has weeds that I'll no doubt have to pull up tomorrow. As if that wasn't bad enough, the crows mocked me from afar with their cawing. I don't want to get my hopes up, but perhaps tomorrow will be the end of this nonsense. I fear it may be too late for my skin, though. The yard has soaked its scent into my bones. I smell like grass, and it's not even the pleasant smell of grass you might expect on a breezy day in spring, or the kind of grass you're imagining when a commercial comes on TV and there's pretty flowers everywhere. It's the kind of grass that makes a person gag. I took a shower and I still came out smelling like grass. This is the worst perfume ever.
In a sense it was more bearable despite the aching legs and neck and arms I now had. My sibling offered his music for me to listen to while I worked. He's got good taste in music. I didn't really come across a song I didn't like. I think it made the work go faster, though I still can't figure out what exactly is the deal with this rusty substance that keeps getting all over my hands. It's not from the sod itself, so I guess it's a mystery substance. I also realized that the roots go down a lot deeper than one would think. There were a couple stubborn weeds, and in the few instances where I bothered to actually dig the whole thing up, I saw how far down they went and knew the futility of the struggle.
My limbs reached the uncontrollable shaking stage, and I could hardly walk in a straight line after awhile. Considering I was mostly on my own this time, I did pull up quite a decent amount. Unfortunately the yard, which continues to mock me with its stupid vastness, still has weeds that I'll no doubt have to pull up tomorrow. As if that wasn't bad enough, the crows mocked me from afar with their cawing. I don't want to get my hopes up, but perhaps tomorrow will be the end of this nonsense. I fear it may be too late for my skin, though. The yard has soaked its scent into my bones. I smell like grass, and it's not even the pleasant smell of grass you might expect on a breezy day in spring, or the kind of grass you're imagining when a commercial comes on TV and there's pretty flowers everywhere. It's the kind of grass that makes a person gag. I took a shower and I still came out smelling like grass. This is the worst perfume ever.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
The Most Tedious Day
I've had many points in my life where I've felt bored out of my mind. Today, however, wins a special award for being the most tedious, menial day of them all. I suspect that it will remain so for a very long time. I hope to never again repeat such an incredibly dull experience.
It's been little over a year since our newly constructed house was finished, and recently, the new sod for our backyard was put down. It seemed hunky dory dandy, and yet... soon we noticed there were yellowed patches here and there. The worst of it was that there seemed to be particularly long grass growing. It literally felt like I was looking at a field of grass in the Legend of Zelda. I was soon to discover that, unlike the video game, removing grass was no easy feat.
Today the power cut out in the early morning. Although it was a tad devastating, I had hoped I could read a nice book, or perhaps I could brainstorm story ideas, which I have been terribly neglecting. Alas, for this was not to be. My dad caught my sibling and I lounging about in the kitchen doing nothing in particular (in my case I was munching upon some cornbread crackers), so he decided to give us a "fun" chore. He took us to the backyard and said that we should pull weeds. He demonstrated how to carefully pull out these weeds without also pulling out grass and sod. However, those "weeds" looked suspiciously like grass. It appeared to us both that it was merely grass that happened to be a little taller than the rest. Incidentally, the "normal grass" was also much higher than I was used to seeing. Nevertheless, we had to do it. By hand. I can't think of a more aggravating chore than this.
Interesting side note: there were a lot of mushrooms as well. Just what I always wanted in my new yard!! Complimentary mushrooms!! What are we, hobbits? For some reason the little things bothered me. It wasn't because I imagined they were the deadly Medusoid Mycelium (okay I did imagine it just a bit), but I didn't want to step on them. Progress was quite slow. It wasn't long before we both started abandoning care. Dad was hardly going to notice a few strands of normal grass missing, though admittedly there were a couple moments when, in my haste, I nearly pulled up an entire square of grass. A few pats here and there and it was good as new. I hope. We'd go so much faster if we were slightly less careful, and it seemed absurd that dad would actually check each individual blade of this grass to be sure we had done as he had instructed.
My arms and legs began to ache, then my fingernails and knees. My hands were coated with a rusty-looking soil. I daresay it looked a bit like dried blood. We took a short break, and we were still less than halfway done. The yard, like Russia, remained stupidly big. I guess I should count my blessings that there weren't a great deal of nasty surprises waiting in the grass, such as bugs. The weather could have been worse, but I started to feel the heat once I resumed the task after a quick rest. It'd have felt less pointless if the weeds had actually felt like weeds. Dad appeared on the deck above us, calling out. He said, "Wow, you guys pulled up a lot of grass! .... Grass. ... Weeds." I rather fancy that the slow way he said grass a second time was a sign that somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized on some level that what he had told us to pull up were not weeds. That doubt quickly vanished, of course.
I shall never again look fondly upon the grass cutting pastime in Legend of Zelda. Contrary to what Link would have me believe, one does not simply hack wildly at real grass with a sword. I don't know about anyone else, but I felt that surely, someone somewhere in the world has invented a tool that could pluck individual stalks of grass with more efficiency than crawling around on hands and knees or stooping while shuffling awkwardly and handing plucking them. Not only was the going unbearably slow, I didn't even have the benefit of free money appearing out of nowhere as I got rid of the grass. After my back, neck, and calves started to throb more painfully I asked to be done. The grass is roughly halfway plucked, and I feel unease that we might have to repeat this stupid exercise tomorrow. After a couple solid hours, this is the result of our labor:
It's been little over a year since our newly constructed house was finished, and recently, the new sod for our backyard was put down. It seemed hunky dory dandy, and yet... soon we noticed there were yellowed patches here and there. The worst of it was that there seemed to be particularly long grass growing. It literally felt like I was looking at a field of grass in the Legend of Zelda. I was soon to discover that, unlike the video game, removing grass was no easy feat.
Today the power cut out in the early morning. Although it was a tad devastating, I had hoped I could read a nice book, or perhaps I could brainstorm story ideas, which I have been terribly neglecting. Alas, for this was not to be. My dad caught my sibling and I lounging about in the kitchen doing nothing in particular (in my case I was munching upon some cornbread crackers), so he decided to give us a "fun" chore. He took us to the backyard and said that we should pull weeds. He demonstrated how to carefully pull out these weeds without also pulling out grass and sod. However, those "weeds" looked suspiciously like grass. It appeared to us both that it was merely grass that happened to be a little taller than the rest. Incidentally, the "normal grass" was also much higher than I was used to seeing. Nevertheless, we had to do it. By hand. I can't think of a more aggravating chore than this.
Interesting side note: there were a lot of mushrooms as well. Just what I always wanted in my new yard!! Complimentary mushrooms!! What are we, hobbits? For some reason the little things bothered me. It wasn't because I imagined they were the deadly Medusoid Mycelium (okay I did imagine it just a bit), but I didn't want to step on them. Progress was quite slow. It wasn't long before we both started abandoning care. Dad was hardly going to notice a few strands of normal grass missing, though admittedly there were a couple moments when, in my haste, I nearly pulled up an entire square of grass. A few pats here and there and it was good as new. I hope. We'd go so much faster if we were slightly less careful, and it seemed absurd that dad would actually check each individual blade of this grass to be sure we had done as he had instructed.
My arms and legs began to ache, then my fingernails and knees. My hands were coated with a rusty-looking soil. I daresay it looked a bit like dried blood. We took a short break, and we were still less than halfway done. The yard, like Russia, remained stupidly big. I guess I should count my blessings that there weren't a great deal of nasty surprises waiting in the grass, such as bugs. The weather could have been worse, but I started to feel the heat once I resumed the task after a quick rest. It'd have felt less pointless if the weeds had actually felt like weeds. Dad appeared on the deck above us, calling out. He said, "Wow, you guys pulled up a lot of grass! .... Grass. ... Weeds." I rather fancy that the slow way he said grass a second time was a sign that somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized on some level that what he had told us to pull up were not weeds. That doubt quickly vanished, of course.
I shall never again look fondly upon the grass cutting pastime in Legend of Zelda. Contrary to what Link would have me believe, one does not simply hack wildly at real grass with a sword. I don't know about anyone else, but I felt that surely, someone somewhere in the world has invented a tool that could pluck individual stalks of grass with more efficiency than crawling around on hands and knees or stooping while shuffling awkwardly and handing plucking them. Not only was the going unbearably slow, I didn't even have the benefit of free money appearing out of nowhere as I got rid of the grass. After my back, neck, and calves started to throb more painfully I asked to be done. The grass is roughly halfway plucked, and I feel unease that we might have to repeat this stupid exercise tomorrow. After a couple solid hours, this is the result of our labor:
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