Write four lines of prose about: the woman who wouldn't go.
Just felt like abusing the fact that I don't have to be specific when labelling my Friday posts.
All eight rows of the strawberries have now been weeded. We celebrated this evening by enjoying our first sample of the berries we've been working so hard to help thrive.
There are still two and a bit rows left to mulch but that's going to go a lot faster with two people working on it at the same time.
Day off tomorrow, as we'll be attending the wedding of one of Kat's high school friends. Seems like a decent reason to bother shaving this mess of a beard off of my face.
I have asked her to leave, many times. Politely, insistently, with great and blustery anger. Nothing has worked, as you can see for yourself.
She lingers at the edges of my mind, hitching rides with innocuous thoughts, seemingly intent on haunting me for the rest of my days.