Its 4:30 in the afternoon and Im lying on the lawn a beaten man.
My knees ache. So does my back. And my bald spot is sunburned, even though it wasnt sunny.
On top of those things, theres a splinter the size of the MUN clock tower lodged in my thumb.
Ive spent most of the day warring with weeds.
Its a battle I didnt win.
As soon as it appeared a flowerbed had been liberated, Id spot another blasted weed or, on one occasion, 30,543 of them.
What was supposed to be a botanical paradise has turned into a Garden of Weeden.
Those unwanted suckers are the roots of all evil.
And as if pulling them from the lawn, edges of beds and other areas isn't frustrating enough, there's the patience and precision required when the buggers are in and around the spring flowers.
In fact, I now know the roots of the song Tiptoe Through the Tulips.
The tune was undoubtedly written by a disheartened amateur horticulturist who got fed up with cracking off his wife's beloved bulbs when whacking weeds in the middle of flowerbeds.
The guy got so frustrated, he threw in the trowel.
Then he picked up a ukulele, and starting singing about treading lightly around flowers in falsetto.
That's what weeding does to you.
And that's how I feel right now.
It's tempting to pave the whole yard, but with the quality of asphalt being used these days, I'd end up with potholes in 45 minutes and people would then remark how my garden looked like Freshwater Road.
So it looks like my war against the weeds will continue on a regular basis and even get more intense during peak growing season.
It's unavoidable. I've made my flowerbeds and now I've got to lie in them.
Anyone got a ukulele?