Garden Fail

I’ve always enjoyed gardening.  When I was a child, my parents always let me have a little garden of my own, to plant petunias, marigolds, and other plants hardy enough to withstand clumsy handling.  When I was 17 or 18, I moved on to planting some perennials, some of which survive to this day.

So now that I had a whole four square feet of land outside my front door, I was eager this summer to pull out the weeds, and replace them with flowers; my own take on urban beautification. But away from the influence of my parents’ green thumbs, this garden was a near failure.

My black-eyed susans never bloomed.  My coneflowers were eaten by rabbits.  My salvia (no, not the hallucinogenic kind) grew all wonky, instead of straight and tall.  The pre-existing bleeding hearts withered away and died.

The only thing to flourish?  Potted petunias.

I guess I’m back to square one.

I Just KNOW I Have Mad Squirrel Disease

The zombies are after me. I have empirical evidence based on a recent search performed that led at least one zombie to my site:

What happens when eat brains?

My answer? Probably this:

You will contract Mad Squirrel Disease. I am not kidding.*

However, I’m not too worried about zombies eating my brain. Because legitimate mental illness aside, my brain is so defunct that, if eaten, the zombies will probably succumb to Mad Something-Or-Other Disease and they will die. Again.

My reasoning is two-fold:

First, I think too much. Sometimes this over-thinking is to my benefit. For example, the other day I saw toad in my garden. I then spent half an hour on Wikipedia reading about toads.

Henceforth, if I see another toad, I’ll know its taxonomy and gland functions. This is important if I am to continue planting things in my garden and then watching them slowly die at my hand. See? Benefit.

Second, I think too much. Sometimes this over-thinking is to my detriment. For example, if left to my own conclusions, I’d be diagnosed with every horrible disease in the book. I have a headache? Brain tumor! Mosquito bite? Yellow fever! Nothing in particular is wrong? Rubella!

The only thing stopping me from wearing out the revolving door at my local emergency room is a thorough search on WebMD. By the time I’ve confirmed my ridiculous ailment, the symptoms causing such panic have disappeared. This would be reassuring, but since I’ve already curled up on my couch and started planning my funeral, I am utterly beyond any semblance of reassurance. See? Detriment.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to toss out that squirrel brain stew I have in my slow cooker. Not that it matters, because I’m pretty sure I felt my heart beating, which can only mean I have bubonic plague. Hmmm.... I better read up on squirrels. And plague.

Goodbye forever.

*Thanks to Burleson Consulting for alerting the world to the dangers of Mad Squirrel Disease. At least one state, North Carolina, has heeded your advice. Next step: pay me to lobby Congress on your behalf. It’s the logical thing to do.