I knew we’d become domestic when we went to Bunnings for the express purpose of buying a lawn mower & some gardening gear (spade, trowel, fork, rake, etc). Despite flashbacks to my initiation into the psychedelic world of Sydney’s 1992 dance party scene and hazy recollections of nootropics, virtual reality rigs and funky/chunky graphics, the closest I got to the Lawnmower Man was that I was this guy pushing a lawnmower around the back yard.
Oh well, at least I had a stack of aviation podcasts to listen to under my tarmac worker quality hearing protection.
I’ve been willing to put up with the boring hassle of mowing the lawns, even when the spring & autumn seasons meant rain and grass growing at a rate you could watch all day without having to pretend you saw movement. Sadly, however, today took me over the edge. I’ve spent today mowing lawn, ripping out crap from flowerbeds & driveway edges and otherwise trying to make the space look acceptable. What makes it worse is that we’re moving out of here next week and all this is just to ensure that the place doesn’t look too run down/dilapidated when the contractors come through to renovate the place.
After a day of mowing, bending, ripping, carrying & dealing with pissed off insects & arachnida, I think the next gardening tool I buy will be a flame thrower. Screw this “beautiful looking garden” shit – it’s either paved or the place comes with a gardener who gets paid to make it look good while I get my weekends back.