Behold, this is the result of a mere weekend's worth of yard work, and I've still got tons to do, based on the mess I've made that was intended to eventually improve things. In short: Landscaping is hard, as evidenced by the top of my forearm pictured here, which is pretty scraped and scratched up from pruning various bushes, trees, and shrubs. This is the result of watching too many DIY home improvement shows that convince you that, in an afternoon, you can undo everything a Colorado winter has done to your property. Contrary to neighborhood suspicions, I have not been trying to find a new injection site for intravenous Miracle Grow. Yet.
Now that I've begun what I've come to call one of my dumbest undertakings ever, I realize that I could use a miracle. Keep this on the down-low, but I suspect I may be getting one. Note this image of the underside of my forearm. Note the eyes, nose, and mouth that have appeared there in scabby relief. My guess is that, by the time I'm done with the whole yard--lawn, garden, and trees--we'll be able to make out the image of a religious icon in startling detail. I say that because this kind of thing happens to me all the time.
Take, for example, this photo of my full back tattoo:
It's a depiction of my cat, Fluffy, chasing a ball of yarn, but if you squint your eyes, you can see the faintest resemblance to the Virgin Mary.
And then there's this: The ashtray I sculpted and inscribed for my mom at summer camp one year that looks an awful lot like Jesus' own mother (with cherubs). We finally had to put it away, since balancing a cigarette on what appears to be Mary's lap was freaking people out.
Now here's the dilemma: Just like the holy cheese sandwich a Vegas casino bought for twenty eight thousand clams, these items are on sale now at eBay at rock bottom reserves. But what am I supposed to do with my arm? Certainly not more yard work.