Last week was a week of quitting.
I quit drinking early last week so that I could try Methotrexate for my RA. By midweek, I was ready to quick blogging entirely (archive this shit and take it off of my to-do list). By Thursday, I coined the phrase, "I have done enough," after deciding I was sick of waking up every morning and claiming that I would "do better"/"do more" today, like yesterday wasn't enough. Saturday, I was ready to rip out the seams of our ottoman and recover it. Yesterday I quit during our long run.
At the end of September, my therapist told me I was doing an excellent job of setting boundaries. Not two weeks later, my best friend was reminding me to breathe, not to quit anything before bed.
Somewhere in the quitting, I told Dan that I was going to cut down the Boxwood in the backyard. We know little about landscaping; we're making it up as we go along. Years ago, someone landscaped our backyard, but no one tended it. We've spent (almost) two years trying to figure it out. I wanted to rip out the Boxwood; it was in the way of my imagined festoon lighting.
I was telling Dan my grand plan (grand, cheap, and semipermanent) for the fire pit that we don't have and the two strings of festoon lighting I bought on sale. "I'll just dig this guy up," I said, pointing to the Boxwood.
Our Boxwood had never heeded to shaping as Boxwoods are supposed it. It always seemed a little too tall. I threatened to bonsai it, and then to pull it up. I mean, there was a roundish-square-shaped evergreen bush that didn't go with anything else in our backyard.
When I pointed to the Boxwood, I thought a storm had blown a fake flower onto it. The flower wasn't a fake. Our Boxwood was not a Boxwood.
There was one single Camellia bloom and buds everywhere. It is a Japanese Camellia.