It’s not that fucking hard. I know it’s like, this big ol thing in your head, but it’s not that hard. It takes like, fifteen minutes max to do the front yard and that’s it – fifteen minutes for a lil bit of peace of mind. Fifteen minutes and you don’t have to worry about the city sending your landlord letters about weeds.
Put in earbuds, put on music, walk back and forth in approximately straight lines for ten to fifteen.
It’s really not that hard.
What IS hard is mowing the lawn and getting sidetracked by a line in a song about how loving your children will cost you everything, because then you have to stop and contemplate how little your parents cared – how little effort they put into bringing you up. And they’ll never really know how you feel about it because they died well before you were ever capable of having this conversation.
Not that it matters – this hypothetical conversation wouldn’t have changed anything. so all you really have is the knowledge that they didn’t care and could never be made to care while they still drew breath.
The lawn is done, though, and that’s one problem solved.