Last evening I got out and weedeated the yard. (That sentence just sounds so wrong!) I really enjoy this for some strange reason I can’t explain. I don’t even mind when the string doesn’t feed and I have to pop the spool off and fix it. There is something about weedeating that fulfills the human need for both destruction and order. At the same time I to mow down any weeds and grass that meet with my displeasure for being where I don’t want them, I’m also bringing order and definition to my yard and garden. There really is something mystically about the whole experience.
I have to do this work (or meditation if you will) either in the morning before I take a shower, or in the afternoon when I’m sure I won’t be going out again. At the end of the process, I’m covered in weed guts and pieces. It must be something like a warrior returning from battle covered in gore, except without the blood, smell, and disgusting factor. Once I’m through I can wash it all off and either get dressed for the day, or for bed which ever I feel like.
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