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crazy gardener lady

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vinesqueen

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Highs and Lows are so personal, and some of us find our Highs and Lows merge into one weird feeling. I'm lately finding Highs and Lows crossing over into each other.

 

Right now I'm on an insane High. Wednesday I crashed hard and ended up in the ER with "profound weakness." Today I was doing yard work like a crazy woman, like a woman posessed. Moved one of my compost bins, sstarted to pressure wash the back of the house but the Husband took over because I was crying because I'm ... possesed. I have no idea why I'm driven to do yard work. I mean DRIVEN to do yard work when I'm on a High. I just put down two big bags of beauty bark in the back-yard, moved the compst, spent an hour killing blackberries, raking ... Mike gets mad because I keep over doing it. Well, mad isn't the right word, concered I think more. I explained to him that I don't know how to not over do. I don't know when to stop. I don't know when to stop because it changes from day to day, hour to hour.

 

Sorry, I'm rambling again. I'm the amazing motor mouth, chatter chatter chatter.

 

It's like that credit card commercial, where the guy has dug himself into deep deep debt, and he finally says "somebody please help me."

 

I haven't figured out why I don't do this in the house. Clean the inside of the house, empty drawers and cupbards and closets. I don't know why I don't turn this energy inside. I don't know why I don't use this energy to pain and refinish furniture or texture walls or retile my bathroom or my kitchen.

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Highs and Lows are so personal, and some of us find our Highs and Lows merge into one weird feeling. I'm lately finding Highs and Lows crossing over into each other.

Right now I'm on an insane High. Wednesday I crashed hard and ended up in the ER with "profound weakness." Today I was doing yard work like a crazy woman, like a woman posessed. Moved one of my compost bins, sstarted to pressure wash the back of the house but the Husband took over because I was crying because I'm ... possesed. I have no idea why I'm driven to do yard work. I mean DRIVEN to do yard work when I'm on a High. I just put down two big bags of beauty bark in the back-yard, moved the compst, spent an hour killing blackberries, raking ... Mike gets mad because I keep over doing it. Well, mad isn't the right word, concered I think more. I explained to him that I don't know how to not over do. I don't know when to stop. I don't know when to stop because it changes from day to day, hour to hour.

Sorry, I'm rambling again. I'm the amazing motor mouth, chatter chatter chatter.

It's like that credit card commercial, where the guy has dug himself into deep deep debt, and he finally says "somebody please help me."

I haven't figured out why I don't do this in the house. Clean the inside of the house, empty drawers and cupbards and closets. I don't know why I don't turn this energy inside. I don't know why I don't use this energy to pain and refinish furniture or texture walls or retile my bathroom or my kitchen.

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