I deleted the rants there, the last incarnation can dwell here.
A rant. Beware.
Beautiful Wodin's Day outdoors. In here it is the bitter taste of stale promises and fallen good intentions, the ashes of anger. Fuck cancer. Fuck my back pain. Fuck Autumn. This shit is hard. I lasted all of ten minutes in the backyard raking. I thought I was stronger. I am not. I'm entering my fucking pissed off at the world stage. I'm angry I cannot start the lawn mower, which is probably out of gas anyway. I'm angry the garden got so bad this summer. I'm angry I cannot wrangle the ladder. I'm angry Larry died. I'm angry at the asshats on Fb marketplace who asked for things then never fucking showed up. I'm angry Larry hauled so much crap home and burdened me with junk too big to go into the trash bin. I'm angry at just about everything this fine day, including being angry with myself for not being able to speak up until I am enraged. That's my hallmark, simmering then simultaneously imploding and exploding. So that pisses me off too, feeling awkward and guilty and passive aggressive.
I do not want to be The Centerpiece of Pity, but here I am.
Fortunately, I have someone coming this afternoon who can help a bit. Getting any of the chores done always helps cheer me up; knowing the raspberry canes will be trimmed is a huge relief. I know people care, I also know I cannot ask to be a first priority. It is hard being the second string after being the center of Larry's universe.
And fuck that dog next door.
Okay Google, find affordable lawn care.
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