Fresh picked today for Sheryl, and Sparkmonkey, and Sam the Girl.

Me: Hello, my name is *mumbling* and I'm a flowerholic.

It's not that I like them, or they're nice, or they smell good--- they are my HEROIN-- hello, people? Poppies = heroin. C'mon. You knew I was a junkie and yet you encourage me to indulge. I give you pictures of dirt being moved by a Kubota L48. I give you smiling puppies who smell like butterscotch. But no, you pull me to the dark side-- you make me go . . there, to that place I can't resist. Into my garden.

There's a word for you people. Enablers. If I'm not being told I'm really more fun when I post drunk (and no, Otter, you weren't the only one but you gave me the best argument for it and since I've already singled you out once this week why don't I just keep pointing my html at you cause I can -- Feh *twirling*-- and frankly, given how high strung and high maintenance I am we all KNOW T would like to see me get the buzz on more often, too-- HELL, who wouldn't?) but wait, *getting dizzy* what was I saying? where am I? I think I got lost in a parenthese (what is the singular of parentheses?) back there.

*blinking and seeing stars* Whew. *breathing* Okay. Addiction. Enablers. That's right. Can't you see I am ADDICTED to flowers? Don't you know who else was addicted to flowers? That's right. Nana. And where's Nana now? (Laughing at me from up above in the momma of all gardens at how lazy I am-- tch tch--letting my wisteria climb up into the shutters on the second floor window) She was old (but still had all her teeth, doncha know) so I still have all my teeth (and they are SUPER clean cause I was chez le dentiste TWICE in the past two days (you do the math)--- and I'm besotted with flowers and so, I'm old.

And, is there anything plus triste than being an old addict?

(Though, I guess being a garden ho' is preferable to other types of tools).

Wait. Dammnit. I got lost again *pulling a strand of wisteria out of my teeth*.

My point was. People will think I am boring if I post pictures of flowers everyday. They will just skip right over me as they drive their buggies about blogville stopping in and leaving their calling cards. I must restrain my flower obsession if I have any hope of having good CAUSTIC, witty comments. And lord knows, I do love me some caustic wit.

Sigh. But the first step is denial, right? Oh, that's not the first step? Um, Acknowledgement? Right, right. Okay. Um, ya' know-- I think this intervention has been really helpful and um, yeah-- I'm gonna skip on over to step like 8? Is that the step where I get to go around and tell everyone how much they hurt me and how pissed off I am still and pass judgement on their life? Can I just jump to that step cause if there's anything I love more than caustic wit, it's passing judgement on other people. Feh.

And to quote my beloved Jon Stewart, "here it is, your moment of zen."

got 2 cents?