Lawn Boy Roulette

I mowed my lawn today for what I believe is the third time all summer. Some may attribute that to sheer laziness, which, I admit, is a theory with much anecdotal evidence provided by my past tendencies. I believe, however, that I’m subconsciously engaging in risk-taking behavior brought on by chronic boredom. It’s not just a whimsical urge, either … I believe that I set the stage for days such as these months in advance. Read on, if you will, and delve into the complex workings of a self-destructive mind.

Though I’m not much into the whole J. Christ thing, I do appreciate the mood that seems to set in among most around Christmas (pagan readers should feel free to educate the jeebus folks on the history of winter festivals in comments.) Rather than get a recently murdered fir tree, however (What Species Would Jesus Cut Down?,) I’ve got a big sling-shot shaped branch that stands in a corner of my living room with a birdhouse hanging from it 11 months out of the year. Come December, though, I trek through the foothills and gather fallen branches to tie to it in a haphazard fashion, and string lights, tinsel, garland, and kitchen utensils in the guadiest way I can. It’s quite festive.

Anyway, sometime after the holidays (generally around February … see “laziness theory” mentioned above,) I take the branches off and throw them in a pile in the yard. Eventually, I wind up throwing them for my stupid dog, who leaves them lying in random spots in the grass.

So ultimately, I find myself on a day such as today … wearing my Kerrys (flip-flops, for the non-political), shorts, and no sunglasses, pushing a blade spinning at 2500 RPM through the deep grass that hides splintering landmines, planted half a year earlier by none other than myself.

I guess as far as self-destructive risk-taking behavior goes, I should be thankful that I’ve never really been proficient at convincing strangers to have unprotected sex in dark alleys (with me, that is ... oddly, when I talk to strangers in bars, they seem quite willing, even desperate, to find some other stranger to spend time with.)

Also, I think the entire world owes me a gesture of gratitude for not going into clinical psychology. A beer will suffice.