I'm not a very good patient, in that I'm not very patient. I technically have about two more weeks before I'm supposed to be resuming my full normal activities. But yet I haven't been holding much back over the last few days. It was just too much fun to get dirty this weekend. And the weeds weren't interested in waiting until I am at full speed. I had too big a case of spring fever to sit inside and watch the man do all the yard work. It's so bad, we were wandering through Costco, going up and down every single aisle, because we signed up for our first membership there at the festival this weekend, and as we were filling the cart with large quantities of reasonably priced organic food, I rounded a corner and caught a whiff of an intoxicating scent. My head whipped around to see what smelled so delicious, and not kidding, it was a stack of bags of gardening soil. There is no escaping it now.
But regardless of how much fun it is to play in the dirt, I have to be honest with myself about when to stop, and I didn't do that yesterday. Even a relaxed day of shopping and errands meant that when I tried to pull a few weeds and pick up a few sycamore pods, I just had no energy for it. I've been sitting under two blankets for the last three hours, freezing because I have nothing left in reserves. I couldn't do anything but shiver. I'm too cold even to go up to bed, because I would have to crawl out from the blankets and warm cat bodies on top of me now. I guess I have to do it anyway. But that doesn't meant I have to like it.
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