Gardening has always been a non-pastime of mine. The past weeks have been so kind as to teach me that it may even be dangerous for me to work in the yard without supervision. But today, with the odds against me, I trimmed the crazy shrub outside my front door that was days away from gouging my eye out one sleepy morning.
This afternoon, a friend came over to help me install some shelves. My place is so small, I figured that was a swell time to get some things done outside. I got me some tools (sharp ones!) and I went to town. It was laborious. A very large weed had taken over the small square-foot dirt plot, and I needed to get it out.
There was a moment, after I'd been trying to get at the huge ugly thing with the hooked clippers, that I thought, "I should get a saw." I went into the garage, found a chainsaw, picked it up, pushed some buttons, and realized I needed an extension cord. I stood there another moment and realized, "I am the clumsiest person I know. Plus I really like my body just the way it is. I would not like today to be the day that I lose a hand." I put the chainsaw down and went back to the clippers. Eventually, I was able to dig [insert constipation sounds here], locate the root, and pull the whole thing out with my bare hands. It felt amazing. There should have been fireworks. I am awesome.
Today, I did yardwork, and I was successful. Someday future-Megan will be climbing some mountain thinking, "This is nothing compared to that darn root." And then I'll stand on one foot or something equally amazing (because seriously, my feet are the opposite of flat, and sometimes, in yoga, everyone is cemented in their perfect poses and I pick one foot off the ground, and start falling all over myself).
Did you hear that, World? I rock.
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