I did get the weed-eating done to try and get the grass down to a manageable height. Even that was an ordeal. It took more than one day. The first day I got most of the yard done, but then my weedeater started overheating and malfunctioning. It was throwing out extra line which proceeded to sling shrapnel at my legs. I'd cut the line back to a normal length, and two seconds later (not an exaggeration), it would be back to military weapon length. I have actual gouges in my shins from projectiles the freakin' plastic string was finding in the grass. I don't even know what was hitting me! Between the bleeding and the smell of my weedeater frying, I finally gave up. This is where I left things that first day:
The first picture is close up to give you an indication how high the grass had gotten. The second one lets you see how much of the yard still needed to be tackled. It's been about a week since I finally got it all cut down, so it's all starting to grow again. That means if I don't mow this weekend, my war wounds will all be for naught.
On top of that, for the last week or so, I've had all my outdoor furniture stacked in my flower beds and such to keep it out of the way while I did the weed-eating and (presumed) mowing, so my yard looks a bit like a junk yard. You can't see the stacking in these two pictures, so you'll have to take my word for it. It's verging on pathetic.
So, I have some Gatorade chilled in the fridge, some Off ready to douse all exposed skin and some old tennis shoes and high socks to protect against the ant piles I will no doubt stire up (I shouldn't need shin guards since I'll be mowing instead of weedeating, meaning the shrapnel phase should be over), and I guess tomorrow morning is The Time. I *must* mow. I *must* marshall myself to just get it the frig done. I hope I don't kill my lawnmower the way I may have killed my weedeater. That would suck.
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