My Green Monster

It's no Fenway, it's my backyard and yet, it derives the same emotion for me as I can only assume a sharp left-fielder feels against The Wall - the intimidation, the unpredictability, the mystique. A few weeks back, I tackled the lawn. (Note: the lawn won, but I'll get to that.) I was becoming the bad neighbor (this time, with regards to lawn maintenance, not the "other stuff" which led to my summer '99 arrest, not to be confused with my arraignment in the winter of '99). I knew it was only moments before flaming sacks of poo littered my front stoop. As I have stated before, I hate mowing the lawn. (I have been meaning to hire the people who tend to my neighbor's lawn, but haven't gotten around to it.) Since my detest runs deep, midway through the task, I got bored and quit. I had intentions on completing the chore in a timely manner, but intentions are just that and produce no results. Needless to say, the next time the mowing was due - the part I had left unkempt was a total nightmare... and not the kind that wakes up to morning sex. After less than a pass, I had to empty the bag. After I filled all the lawn refuse bags I had on hand, and two oversized cardboard boxes, I still had not finished the mission. The lawn had won again. Monday night, I finally finished her off. The drudgery continued when I came home last night to find the lawn dues for another cut. I begrudgingly pared the entire lawn... and admitted defeat. The oconsolationtion is that today it's raining and the green pasture of my rout did not have the last laugh.