Greener Grass
It’s amazing how green the neighbours’ lawn is. They clearly care for it better than I do. They have more time to spend out there, obviously. You can tell just by how much greener it is, just on the other side of the fence.
Unfortunately, my grass doesn’t look like that. It’s patchy and brown in spots. I can see those blemishes so clearly. The weeds make it look better in winter. They come through thick and lush. Of course, by summer they have also tuned brown and left their prickles behind, leaving the patchy lawn a brittle, spikey wasteland.
I bet that doesn’t happen next door.
Next door, they have automated sprinklers. They have someone that comes and weeds and trims edges and really cares for the lawn. We don’t have that. If there was more money, I could have that. If there was more time, I would do it myself. But there's just isn't, not in this house. Not in the house with the brown patchy lawn.
What if I just moved in there?
I think things would be better. I think I would feel so much more relaxed. I’d feel special and loved. There’d be so much more time to do the things I want. My grass would be green already, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it being brown or the work needed to make it nice. I could just sit out there and enjoy my life and not worry about the mundane reality of making a home.
Blissful.
That’s what it’s like on the other side of the fence.
The house with the brown lawn is all hard work. It takes effort and patience and control. it forces me to feel things I don’t want to feel. It makes me think. Make me prioritise. I can’t just do what i want. I have to think of others.
I have to water the lawn. All the time. I have to show up regardless of how I feel.