Unpredictably tired; one morning of fun means a whole weekend of lying around like Toby; pushing past it means sometimes not pushing past at all, but being stuck.  I even feel physically sick from it all.

The plans, before I hurt my head and before I realized the house leaked every time it rained hard, were that we were going to landscape the grass and path adjacent to our house. Winter led to spring, spring led to summer, and I have packets of seeds on my dresser wondering what they’re doing sitting around in my bedroom, and I have pots on the balcony asking to be planted in the ground, where they’d rather be.

But just wait, you’ll see. My siding and house paint and gutters will be painted, and the mud in my yard will be crying for plants, plants, more plants! I’ll start some seeds in these nifty paper pots, and come a nice cool day I’ll plant my little friends, pot and all, and watch them grow. Remind me about the paper pots when the time comes, so I don’t forget. They’re useful, and as far as I can tell the best use for the free copy of the Chronicle that someone leaves on my driveway now and again. I read the good bits online, so I really don’t need a paper copy . . . unless I’m fixing to make some paper pots.