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Back in the saddle again.

So, I seem to have lost myself in the last few weeks. Turns out, I was in the garden all along.

This new job has proved to be more exhausting than I'd predicted. Two little boys are different than two little girls, granted, but after my last nightmare job if I never again have to argue with an homunculus it will be too soon. The younger of the two spends his time kicking anything that comes within flailing distance of his body and being pummeled by his elder brother. Said firstborn spends his time trying to kick things before his little bro gets to them, including tripping him up as a bonus, and informing me that if the little'un wasn't so annoying he wouldn't have to hit him so often. My argument that annoyance isn't a natural predecessor to violence doesn't hold much water with him.

All the arguments that arise from my attempts to protect the house (and the younger brother) from the tender ministrations of the Y chromosome have exhausted me to a physical degree. I've spent the last week stumbling blindly home in a fog and collapsing on the couch, only to fall into bed around ten and into sleep not long after my head hits the pillow. Usually still clutching a book, glasses still firmly on face. This, of course, means Himself has to divest me of said accoutrements before he can go to sleep. Seeing as how he paid for the (very expensive) eyewear, he has a vested interest in ensuring that it's not smashed during my (very active) sleep cycle. He's not so invested in the tatty paperbacks, they have to take the luck of the draw as to where they end up.

So, this weekend was spent recovering from the last two weeks. Yesterday was lazily begun with coffee and a book in bed, to be followed by Mexican food and a regrettably dreadful Tim Burton flick (honestly, how awful was AiW...?), and today was breakfast in bed and a few hours' gardening followed by a few episodes of Jonathan Creek and Chinese takeaway. I also *may* have painted my fingernails gold with a four leafed clover on my left ring finger... All in all, I'm feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. Bring on the argumentative short people.

Speaking of the few hours' gardening, that's what I meant by having lost myself. I've spent the last few weeks taking care of business, dealing with hospital appointments and unruly mini-men, and had entirely neglected to take care of my sanity. An hour in the garden can undo any number of botched appointments or brick wall conversations, as I rediscovered this afternoon. I made my way out, moggies in tow (on leads attached to the clothesline) and proceeded to get completely filthy cutting back trees and pulling weeds. In other words, proceeded to have a marvellous time. *grin* The cats finally pleaded their way out of restraints for a proper exploration, which was only cut short when Kit got a little too brave and headed for the back wall at top speed.

So, not to sound too tree hugging, healing crystal wearing, feng shui and third eye about it, but the garden is good for my soul and reminds me who I am and where I ought to be. This was brought home even more effectively, if slightly ironically, by my iPod on shuffle suddenly releasing the dulcet tones of Gene Autry into the afternoon air. I am me, and don't you forget it. Now that I remember where I am, that is.

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