“Do you ever feel a bit like you’re trying to make conversation with a brick wall when you’re talking to me? Because sometimes when I’m down that’s how I feel – like a brick wall, trying to figure out how to talk to you.”
I started writing this last week, and that picture up there was the only way I could think of to express myself. Thankfully, this week is going better. It is only Monday afternoon, but so far I’ve been given a piece of Carrot Cake, planted a new (tiny) garden out the front of my house, heard some fantastic gossip, and caught up with a friend from Napier.
My new tiny garden was actually supposed to be much bigger. Except Saturday I’d pruned back a couple of awful trees in my front yard, and then I woke up Sunday morning, and one of the trees (the butt-ugly, irritatingly placed one) was gone.
Assuming it was not aliens, I’m thinking it was either the landlords being helpful, or feeling annoyed that I’d butchered their favorite butt-ugly tree.
I decided to take the tree’s disappearance as a sign that perhaps I should just tread a bit lightly in that front garden, and minimise my garden’s footprint. I think I’ll leave it a week, and if the landlords say nothing, then take that as tacit agreement that the second – much larger – Garden bed is fine to put in.
As for the catching up with a friend, it was low-key, did not develop into any of the planned sumo wrestling, or Argentinian Throat singing, but there was an actual lake of Pizza, and some truly delicious wine. Sometimes those are the best nights out – when it’s a night in with good company, good catching up (some would say gossip) and good pizza lake.
Oh, I also got a really cheap compost bin, which makes me happy, because so far I haven’t figured out how to recycle in the countryside, and I drive everywhere, so my green cred is losing stock fast. Now I have chickens by association (they don’t belong to me, but do spend their days pooping on my driveway) and I compost (instead of buying compost in those big plastic bags.)
If anyone ever does figure out how to recycle in the countryside, let me know, because I have a stash of cardboard boxes under my bed. They’re annoying me, because the cat goes under there and rips them to pieces when he’s pissed off at me. Living with Batz is exactly like living with a psychopath, except he doesn’t have the opposable thumbs to operate a chainsaw, so instead, to express his frustration he has to resort to strangulation methods while I sleep, self-mutilation, and the occasional haunting howl at 3am in the morning. Just to watch me bounce off the ceiling in fright.
So here’s to feeling better, and carrot cake!