The Green Season

I’ve started fixing up the outside of the house. At least, the green things around the house. This is somewhat worrying, as most green things I own die instantly. I can’t even keep salad in my fridge. The second I put it the crisper drawer, it starts screaming and catches on fire.

I spent most of the day clearing out dead leaves and worrying about how much I will still have to do after that. See once upon a time, my grandma had flower gardens, ferns, bushes, shrubs, and lilacs, all perfectly managed in rows and allotments. Now, as it happens, I have all those things but with a bunch of weeds and dead grass on top.

A bit much for a guy who’s never cared for anything bigger than an office plant.

And the pool. That was a problem for years, back when nana was still around. It kept leaking, she said, and became too expensive to keep filling up. So she put a tarp over and left it for later; a philosophy I can generally get behind. In the intervening time, however, the tarp tore and the water left in the pool became black and, well, alive. I can see foul, lovecraftian things moving in that pool. I would try and get rid of them, but they’re probably so advanced by now they’d just rise to make war on the surface world.

I’m going to try to have a garage sale in a couple weeks. Which means braving the cat pee basement again. If I don’t write next week, it will be because I have died from the pee fumes. If that is the case, do not mourn for me. Just burn down this house like a funeral pyre; it’s safer that way. Preferably with as many ceremonial cats on top as you can find.

Also: reading.