lord, get me out of this house.

ah shit.
noshit is a girl. and I am a big retard.
go here immediately and read: http://drivingthebustohell.blogspot.com/
note to self - reread 'Our Bodies, Ourselves.' Use highlighter.
I just heard a flock of trumpeter swans go past like a schooner under full sheets. Such a big, beautiful looking bird, the most pure shade of white this side of paradise, yet what an underwhelming song. Not the call to arms you might expect with a name like 'trumpeter' but a vaudville 'frap! nork! nork!' as they go overhead. Not too damn far overhead either, although when you're the size of a compact car and you can fly, people probably get out of your way.
This time of they year they are still paired up and travelling with the young they fledged the past spring. You can tell that the winter has been wearing away at the fabric of their patience with this arrangement. Instead of catering to the every whim of the cygnets the adult swans now chase them off. 'Goddammit! Get off me! You have wings; get a job!'
I remember those days.
As the days lengthen my gardening dna is beginning to act up bad. I notice myself spending more time pacing in front of the picture windows thinking 'Jesus, the yard looks like shit, it just looks like shit. I need to mow. I need to weed. I need to trim. I need to.....'and so it goes. The front beds are just a pathetic disaster. The scene only lacks a bewildered third world child with no drawers chewing on a shoe to complete the squalor. Please, give generously. It takes only pennies a day.
There's a henbit just outside my front window in the middle of my lillies that has been mocking me all winter long and all I can do is just stand and stare at the thing hating it. Now would be the perfect time to go murder it like the wicked scum vegetable that it is, since henbit, as my grandma would put it ' has a Chinaman hanging off the other end' and it's easier to pull chinamen through soft mud than it is to chip them out of the soil later in the year. But if I go out to pull it, I'll sink up to my ankles in the mire as soon as I step off the porch; and it knows that. I hear it at night while I'm watching CSI. 'IIIIIIIm ouuuuuut here.........IIIIIIm groooooowing.......I can reach the latch on the window beHIIIIIIIIIIIIIND youuuuuu.....'
Fuck I need to dig a hole!
No, it REALLY IS that bad. The last place we owned sat on a lot which was pretty small, and as we usually do Rq and I divided it down the middle and flipped a coin to see who gets right and who gets left. My side was so small, and I finally became so desparate that I went to the owner of the house next door and asked if I could garden there as well, because I had flat run out of things to dick with in my yard. Think of it as horticultural colonialism. It worked out pretty well. He got free maintenance and I got to make sure that the people next door didn't trash the fucker up and make my place look bad. Which they probably wouldnt have done, but you never know.
I made that sapsucker BLOOM. I turned it into a perfect, self-maintaining native plant paradise. No of course I didn't take plants from the wild off fresh logging clearcuts where they would have just died anyway and thereby continued the process of native species extinction due to loss of habitat. That would be tresspassing and tresspassing is wrong. Because, boy, if somebody else owns the land, say, the state of Washington, or Weyerhauser, or Japan, well, thats their land and you should just stay right the heck off it.
.....Oh hell yes I broke the law. No justification. Had fun doing it too.
So do I have a problem with the nutty people next door's overgrown tangle? Not at all. There's no trash. Since they tend to stay indoors (talking to the mothership via the static channel) they have a whole, undisturbed, wild mini habitat going on...raccoons, foxes, bats, squirrels, falcons, dang. I kind of feel bad though, since I birdwatch, and it can't be comfortable (for people who already suspect the CIA is using the plumbing to influence their thoughts) to see the neibor lady standing in her window with a pair of binoculars and a notebook. But I think a balance has been struck... My dogs eat all the cat crap in their yard, a free service which I provide out of sheer community spirit; thus, they owe me gratitude for witholding the wrath of the Almighty God Cthulhu and his minions, who long to take them bodily, gibbering and screeching in dawning horror, into the eternal utmost blackness of space where Nyarlathotep, the crawling chaos, reigns, amid the hateful whine of unseen flutes urging on the mindless Elder gods capering awkwardly and obscenely in the abyss.
And yes, THATS what happened to the trick-or treaters who egged my car.