In which she gives up trying to do it all and lets her fingers do the walking

[zeborah]

Really it's kind of ridiculous to hold down a full-time job, attempt a fledgeling writing career, look after a house, worship a cat, and still feel guilty about the idea of hiring someone else to mow one's lawns.

It's now possible to walk on my lawns. As opposed to, you know, wading through them. Also, I can see the paths again.

Boots is slightly disconcerted. She enjoyed being the mighty hunter stalking through the grasses (or, more often, snoozing in them), and the patch of grass she was particularly fond of nibbling at is now gone. She's taken to the section of the rose garden I haven't finished weeding yet; perhaps by the time I'm finished the lawn will have grown back.