4 hours of gardening this afternoon and feeling pretty good.

I transplanted my cayenne peppers, some eggplant, two tomato plants, some potatoes, chives, cucumbers, squash, chocolate mint (mmmm it smells awesome) and green beans. I also laid down some black-eyed susan and blanketflower seeds in the grass because even though I mostly like useful fruit-bearing plants and herbs, I still have a stupid soft spot for wildflowers.

I had to create a new garden because I’m running out of space in my other three. My backyard is basically becoming one giant garden between my mom’s flowers and my vegetables and I’m not complaining.

Also my blueberries finally look like berries! So excited. The blackberries are coming in daily and getting really sweet and plump. But I saw a snake in one of the bigger thickets today so I’m going to make Kyle pick them from now on because nope.

I just want to be Stephen Colbert.

O Dave Strider, coolest dude of all the cool dudes. I pray to you in the hopes that you can teach me your ways of staying chill in the face of all adversity. Please help me find the strength not to murder my brother while he sleeps tonight in a fit of, all things considered, some pretty fucking righteous anger. In face of the fact that he is acting (empirically, I should mention) in the capacity of biggest fucking asshole on the planet. This fucking asshole’s size is only rivaled in immensity by the moon itself. A great yawning gap of an asshole, wrinkled by the sands of his 17 years, and inflamed by just the right ratio of indignation to self-centeredness that only a teenage boy could possibly possess. This asshole, puckered by a sour disposition and surrounded by a downy cloud of negativity and dingleberries, ready to strike in a rage at anyone who dares anger it with a flood of epithets and fecal matter.

O Dave Strider let me judge him not for his complete disregard for the feelings and thoughts of others, nor for his insistence on spending every waking moment playing Call of Duty and yelling at his friends over an XBox headset. Nor for his unapologetic laziness and ease with which he abandons projects of worth. Dave Strider, let me instead remember his good side. Let me remember that he shares his weed abundantly and is a hilarious movie-viewing partner. Let me remember the shining gold nuggets of kindness amongst the abundant piles of steaming crap. Let me remember the undercurrent of humanity and maturity suffocating under his insistent, desperate brand of nihilism. No, Dave Strider, do not let me close my hands around this boy’s throat and squeeze until there is no more breath in his body, no matter how many rent dollars he manages to get our mother to charge in fits of anger. No matter how much money and time his stupid stubbornness costs me, no matter how much of an everyday ass he is on top of this, do not let me kill him tonight.

No, Strider, give me the strength to resist anger and frustration and all its waves of lapping murderous fury. Let me instead channel them into something smarter, something calmer, something… cooler. Like poison.

A fucking men.

I broke down and got a haircut for the first time in like 2 years because I was getting sick of the stragglies and the first thing the lady says to me after I sit down in the chair is “Oh my, I didn’t realize how long your hair is!” and then the second thing she said to me was “So what grade are you in?”

I’m in college.

“Oh really?! You look much younger!~ I thought you were in high school! Don’t you agree, April? She looks like she’s in high school!”

“Hmm? Oh yes she does! When she came in I thought she couldn’t be older than 15!”

Okay.

“Well sweetheart, you know in the long run having a young face will be a blessing.”

Okay.