Garden Junkie

Gardening, chocolate, and coffee.  I crave them all right now, in about equal measure.  There is a proposal due, a trip to a far away place coming up, and a boy who needs a week of summer camp during a week when summer camps don’t operate.  There is a little hamster scrambling around in my brain, and I want it to stop.  What puts that damn hamster to sleep are drugs and gardening.  The drugs are easy enough – I work across the street from my supplier, Panera – but the gardening is harder to score, because it takes time, and it is the lack of time that turns me into a brain-hamster-harboring junkie.

Those little feet above, all covered in dirt?  I want those to be my feet.  The grass is growing, the lilacs are blooming, asparagus is coming up, violets are scattered all over the garden.  The new espalier pears are budding out and I want to just sit and contemplate them a little bit.  If feel like if I did, if I could, the hamster might stop.  Maybe not, though – I’m a junkie, after all, and the more I garden the more gardening it takes to slake the craving.  Dirt.  The next gateway drug.

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