And with that unlikely title, I’m off. (Off what, you’re wondering: off your meds, off your rocker, or off to the grocery store?) It’s been too long since I have written a completely and unashamedly useless post. That’s why the “flake” part of the title gets inserted. Truly, I have been a flake. I’ll try my best to make it up to you all….
Why the word “flake” gets associated with being undependable, I don’t know. What did poor flakes ever do to deserve this deprecating connection? Snow flakes are beautiful (but they don’t last long unless it’s really cold and they can grow into a big pile). Corn flakes* are repugnant, unless they are covered in honey, sugar, nuts, or some other flavor disguiser. I know this because I’ve been trying to choke down corn flakes for breakfast lately, and only the ones encrusted in other flavors can bypass the gag reflex. Flakes of gold are hard to come by, but maybe the next storm will blow some into town.
My flakiness has a root cause. No, it’s not stubbornness. Not today, anyway. I have been hit with a bad case of semi truck crud, or STC. Tuesday night: book club numero uno until 11:15pm. Yes, you read that correctly. And I wasn’t the last to leave. But I did leave healthy. A good night’s sleep followed. And then, with no warning at all, I woke up with STC. Symptoms include, fever, chills, fatigue, desire to ignore one’s own flesh and blood, and quite a bit of groaning and sleeping in turn. Not nearly enough sleeping.
The fever broke, and fifteen minutes later, I was at book club numero dos, but alas began to regret it around 9:30pm, when I was slightly alarmed to discover I was stuck to the leather recliner in a sweat. I have no doubt the hostess donned a hazmat suit and debugged the chair after I left.
Day Two of STC finds me without a voice (hurrah, the children shout), and coughing. At least my teeth aren’t aching anymore. The desire to perform even the most basic tasks has evaporated. And that left me thinking of times in the garden (and in life) when something happens and our priorities shift. Like that time I grew fifty Delphiniums from seed. They were gorgeous, but this is a story that doesn’t have a happy ending. All the staking and fussing with them was a nightmare for my lazy self.
And then, one day, that was it. My desire to enter the garden plunged to nil because of all the work that had to be done with those plants. I went from passion to disgust. They were given away to garden visitors and my sanity was restored. I entered the garden with joy once more.
There are more reasons than sickness for garden aversion syndrome, or GAS (yes, I just made that up), but my sick/tired brain can’t think of any at the moment. I’m off. Truly, this time.
Ever temporarily ended a horticultural affair? What made you do it? What brought you back?
*Does anyone else associate corn flakes with John Denver or is it just me?