This piece was a result of my helplessness and frustration as the road was repaved and was written before Spring came and further victimized me with random killing of many more plants. My Fiona was not a year and my poor brain couldn’t take much more.
I obligingly dug the plants up and moved them to other random beds thinking how much this sucked and how angry I was. The State Highway was going to land at my doorstep any day now and update our driveway. Which meant my flower bed was about to be nuked. Progress had a price and it was this flower bed.
With such little time available to do whatever I want these days, I hate the thought of wasting my time. As I painted the woodwork in the baby’s bedroom, all I could think was how I’d need yet another coat and what the hell was I doing wasting my time on this.
Being unprepared to make the best use of the opportunity given me is inexcusable. It’s a perfectionistic thing. Don’t do it if you can’t do it right. What’s worse is when I punk out and go ahead and do something when I know it’s wrong and then end up staring at the less than desirable outcome for a long time afterwards. This ramshackle flower bed was going to upset me in the Spring.
I embody a combination of perfectionism and slap-happiness that often frustrates me. The husband wanted to make the garden demolition better for me by saying we could start anew next year. Nice try.
Now I’m watching myself as I hurry up and do stuff just like we tell our son not to do. I hate the waste of time that it takes to redo what I have done. Why do I do this?
I am officially under observation. If I attempt any project, I have to challenge myself to do better than half as well as I could. I am worth doing it to the best of my ability with forethought and purpose. Because I, and everything I set my mind to, and make effort to do, is worth it. The garden is worth it, I just haven’t gotten to it yet.