Branch manager

  It may be Tuesday but it really feels like Monday. I've had to make lists of all the piddly things I need to get done in any given week and have even resorted to trying to plan little rewards for getting X or Y done. I am so not in the mood for any more chores. It's a struggle to remember I'm fighting a depression flare up in the middle of a pandemic. It might be a good idea to cut myself some slack. God forbid I acknowledge that despite this I am still sober and functioning.
   We haven't been the most observant homeowners when it comes to the outside stuff. In fact, if we had our head any further up our ass, our farts would sound like raspberries. I have never been a big fan of yard work, for obvious reasons. It's a necessary evil, if you don't want the neighbors calling the township. I've gotten in the habit of chunking onerous tasks. I'll set a timer on my phone and plough the lower 40 or whatever and then I can feel I've put a dent in the task at hand.
   It took a visit from my mom to point out that a normal person couldn't walk past my outside deck without getting a faceful of tree. I am largely clueless about these things as far as how long it takes to trim a tree or what tools are required. I figured I'd be out there for about a half hour and I could declare the mission accomplished. That turned out to be a Presidential level of stupid guess. I also learned how short I am when it comes to trees, too.
   The stubborn polack in me was forced to admit I needed help. My tired spouse obliged but said we needed a ladder. Out tools weren't all that up to the challenge either. Some of the branches needed a saw and I brought a fly swatter when I needed a sledgehammer! Two and a half hours and a lot of profanities later, our trees looked much better. Happily, there weren't any Wil E. Coyote style incidents to report, either. My wiped out spouse went inside and left me to deal with part two.
    There were enough branches removed to build a little piggy's house. My township will not pick up yard waste like this unless it's properly gift wrapped.  The next couple of days were spent folding, breaking, and piling said wood into roughly 3 sneaker long bundles tied up with twine. My kingdom for a fireplace! Thankfully, it was all collected without any snotty municipal love notes involved. We are safe for another year, or longer!