Wednesday April 16th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about something that is: suspended.

After finishing two rows in each of my previous two mulching sessions, I managed to do five rows of garlic today. They're not particularly long rows, but I'm trying to put down a thicker cover this year. Also? That mulch is friggin' heavy.

I know it'll do a better job than the wood chips would, but we don't have a mechanized way of doing it. So that means shovelling it into the wheelbarrow, bringing it to the garlic, and shovelling it out. And repeat. It's doable for a small section like this, but there's no way we'd be able to use it for, say, the strawberries.

Not without my wrist snapping in two.

Anyway, there are only three rows of garlic left to mulch now, so I'm hoping to finish that off tomorrow.

Mine:

My life feels like it has been put on pause. I don't know who is in control of the remote but whoever it is doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to hit play again.

Or maybe they've run out of batteries. I just have to wait until they get back from the store with a fresh pack and then things can resume.

Or it could be they've lost the remote in some dusty cosmic couch. That would not be good. Who knows how long it will take for them to find it? I could be stuck like this for years.

Worse still, they may have simply lost interest in the show that is my life. They hit pause, tossed the remote to the side and walked away. Probably forgotten all about me by now. Not likely to come back to this program if that's the case.

I've been thinking about all of these theories ever since things suddenly came to a halt. I doubt that it's doing me any good, but I can't help it.

Maybe I own my own remote and it's up to me to find it, get the tape moving forward. What if I hit rewind by mistake? Or eject?

I think I've got too much time on my hands.