I have conquered my yard. Bwah ha ha ha! (That was my evil laugh, and this has been the week for it, trust me.) Never mind that my yard is teeny tiny. I conquered it. Almost all by myself, too. In my yard there are no trees, but up until a couple of hours ago there were leaves. Lots and lots and lots of them. (Yes, I know it's spring and fall is traditionally the season for leaf-raking, but if you work nights and have two hours of daylight in the fall and then it rains or snows or sleets every single one of your days off, then all the fall leaves will still be there in your yard come spring. Crazy how that works.) The evil trolls who run the trash service in my little town announced that they would deign to pick up yard waste Monday through Wednesday of next week. Big of them, considering there is nowhere within the entire county to legally dump yard waste and the rules for burning leaves are so byzantine as to almost completely discourage that.
So yesterday, after a mere five hours of sleep, I raked leaves. And stuffed them into big paper bags. And then I raked some more. And then I played with the earthworms that were living under the ginormous piles of leaves. And then I raked some more. And then I tore down the clothesline I never use because I keep running into it and I fear the red mark on my forehead might be permanent. Did I mention I have no trees in my yard? All these leaves are from two giant oak trees in the Grinch's yard. (The Grinch, as you might guess, is the neighbor with whom I do not get along, not to be confused with the lovely Gwen and Floyd on the other side, who have only a big--leafless--pine tree in their yard.) I think I'd feel ever so slightly better about raking up all these leaves if they were from my own trees. I think. Maybe. Or maybe not. Eight bags of leaves. Eight. All piled up in the shed because it looks like rain today and I don't want that stuff getting wet and turning into a mammoth lump of leaves and paper in the middle of my patio. I conquered my yard.