... me! I got so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust! I have been out working in the yard, picking up limbs and piling stuff in the wheelbarrow to trundle up to the edge of the street. Where the city trash truck will eventually pick up yard waste and deliver to an inert land fill, that is an old defunct quarry. Putting lawn clippings, leaves, limbs in the hole in the ground where it will eventually decompose seems like smart thinking to me. Saves lots of stuff that is compostable from filling up the landfill which will run out of space soon enough.
Thinking I would immerse in bug spray and go out to work in the early morning before it gets unbearably, inexcusably hot, I have put in a couple of hours. And suddenly just ran out of steam. The wheelbarrow sits in the driveway, so I will be forced to roll it up the steep incline and dump it before I can leave home. Deliberately parked my load of trash in a spot that will make me finish the task. But right now, I am sooooo sweaty and red-faced, I know I need to quit. If you stopped by and checked my internal temperature, you would find my blood just below the boiling point: that's hot!
It has been a productive morning, including my finely honed procrastinating skill. I should have been out there, coated with bug spray as soon as it got light enough to see, loading the wheelbarrow and getting it done much earlier. With a full load of limbs, and pushing up hill, the one wheel would stall out at every little divot and pine cone. Requiring an extra 'oomph' to push it out of a low spot or over the slightest hump in my path.
After several minuscule, nearly invisible stumbling blocks that served to barricade my chosen path up the asphalt driveway to the street, I thought about the "Princess and the Pea" fairy tale. Where the potential bride was put to bed on a stack of mattresses, with the idea that she would prove herself an impostor when she failed to notice a tiny pea under the pile of cushions. When she awoke and was questioned, she said she slept not a wink due to the bedding, thereby proving her merit and worthiness to be forever blissfully wed to the handsome prince. When sweating and laboring with the loaded barrow, and a wheel that stalled out on bits of gravel or tiniest twigs, I remembered that tale while struggling over invisible obstacles. Does this mean I qualify to live happily ever after with the doting prince?
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