I should buy stock in asterisks...

I f***ing hate yardwork.

Really and truly, that in and of itself should tell you this isn't going to be a pleasant post, and as it continues, I might remove those asterisk. For now, they're there, but don't hold your breath for that not to change.

Growing up, I wasn't the outside kid. I liked to stay inside, even thought the house wasn't all that comfortable in the Summer. No central air, not ceiling fans to redistribute the heat, just whatever breeze might be blowing in from the outside. My Kid (back in the days before our roles in life reversed) hated the concept of closing the house up, preferring to have doors and windows wide and sweltering in the heat and humidity of a Pittsburgh Summer.

Still, through all that, I liked it inside the house. Outside had...stuff...and I didn't like the stuff.

Stuff like bugs. Bees (which, to this day, I still don't like). Worst of all...yard work.

I'll grant you, my yard isn't that big, but My Kid insisted it be done right. The grass has to be cut and kept short. It must be edged off the sidewalk. The hedges must be kept nice and trimmed. Weeds were forbidden and had to be removed, usually at the roots.

For awhile there, she did it, until I got to the age when, as it happens to all kids, they can do the yardwork. I hated it and did everything I could to get out of it.

I liked it inside. My stuff was inside. My imagination was at its peak indoors. Outside...wasn't for me. I'm a city kid. My country experiences are severely limited (ask Julie about that...she teases me every chance she gets). And even for a city kid, I was an inside-the-house kid, not one who hung out or played outside.

Still, it was a responsibility that I had to do, had to take care of, and if I understand one thing, it's my responsibilities.

So I was out there cutting the grass, until I got old enough to strike a deal with a neighbor who preferred to be outside. He cut the grass, trimmed, weeded to My Kid's demanding specifications, and I'd get him a case of beer for his work. Win-Win. He got to be outside, he got beer, and I could stay inside.

Of course, that changed when he divorced his wife of 35 years to go be with a younger woman. I tried to find a replacement, but none was to be found. Once again, it was my responsibility to do the thrice-damned yardwork.

And that's what I was doing today, until I ran over the electric cord, with the yard only half done.

It wouldn't be so bad except this is the second 100' extension cord I've chopped up this year. The first one was a month and a half ago when it slipped into the hedge trimmer while I was cutting the hedge. Sheared it right in half.

Have I mentioned I fu**ing hate yard work.

Hmm. Fewer asterisk that time.

I replaced that cord (it was too shredded to save) and went back to the evil, hated, insane, should-be-banned-by-the-Geneva-Convention yardwork. Of course, today, I was cutting the grass when I accidentally ran over the cord. Did it dozens of times before, but today...today...it got caught under the blade.

*sigh*

I'll see if I can get my neighbor, a retired electrician, to repair the cord, so I can go back and do what I have to do, be a responsible homeowner, and cut the fucking grass. Hm. No asterisk that time.

I swear, I get back to work and I'm hiring a yard service. I don't care. I'd rather spend the money and have someone else do it than spend an hour or two in aggravation working in the yard.

Yeah, I'm happy. Really happy.

Argh.

Three more days.