Weed

Remember when the word "weed" was a good word? Ah yes, the word invoked Pink Floyd, someone's bedroom (with standard towel shoved underneath the door jam) and a dryer sheet tucked into an end of an empty paper towel roll. Ah, youth! Giggling at your friend's skinny ankles that you, completely baked, just now noticed. Or that lyric that just churned out on the record player (remember those?) that had everyone pondering the meaning of life.

No, the weed I'm referring to is the Creeping Charlie that has invaded my life. Every single one of my gardens, and I have many, is infested with this damn weed! I have just spent the last 6 1/2 hours weeding gardens, and I'm only about 1/2 way done. This sucks. I seriously wish I had some of that other weed right now, because maybe the time would go by faster. Oh wait, that kind of weed makes everything slow down.

So, out to my gardens I go. Thankfully my kidlets are still unaware of weed, because otherwise while I'm pulling them, they would probably be in the house smoking them. Like what was happening back in the day.