It was now or never. The weed was three feet high and counting. Every morning I would look at it and say tomorrow, tomorrow. Well tomorrow had finely come. So I pulled out the shovels, rakes, bucket and broom. I soaked the rock filled ground put on my IPod loaded with all of my favorite songs and went to work.
As I filled the bucket with rocks I started to think, perhaps it was how much work one weed could cause or the struggle it gave me to hang in there but I thought of how much I disliked romantic movies. Yes, I know my mind works in wondrous ways.
I realized that every song I was listening to as I shoveled mud, raked the rocks and dug away, was a love song. Well I don’t know if you would call Billy Jean a love song but it sure fit in with what a mess you can make when your cheating on your girlfriend. “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” “I Want to Know What Love Is” etc. etc. etc., seemed to fit that category.
Hum, I’m a paradox. No, I’m a closet romantic. No, it struck me, I’m a procrastinator. It took me a whole hour to pull out that weed and next time I see that weed begin to sprout, "I’m Going to Wash that Weed Right Out of My Hair.
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