Mark it, June 14: I'm officially sick to death of goddamned yard work. The sun is merciless, and you sweat and feel slightly nauseated. You get a tiny fragment of it looking somewhat nice, and a couple of days later, it's covered in weeds. You don't mulch, you get weeds. You mulch, you get weeds and fungi. I don't even care about my garden anymore. I want to, I just can't muster it.
Also, I pay good money for professional lawn people to control my weeds, and lo, the weeds persist and they are spreading.
I want a condo, far, far away, with only a tiny balcony on which I can do a couple of containers. I also want a tank of fish because fish never require hazmat suits and protective padding to handle, don't get the runs, and don't destroy my couch.