My 7th and 8th landscaper have blown me off and I officially think its me. Unfortunately number eight got both barrels in my don’t bother coming by message. I might have mentioned actively campaigning against his company in this neighborhood not because they do bad work but due to the fact that their owner isn’t man enough to live up to his promises. I even asked if it was worse to just tell me the truth and say he was too busy or to have me wanting to exact three hours of revenge on his business.
I left him with a challenge to call me back if he could sack up enough to explain why his time was more valuable than my own. I even mentioned that he might want to poison my entire front yard as I have nothing better to do than salt the earth under his online reputation.
The beauty of that if he follows through is once everything gets good and brown the brush fire will most likely consume the house and it will be time to begin again from scratch. The thought of incinerating all of the material detritus from my life gives me such a feeling of peace that I can’t explain it properly. And while I realize that it would be the most enormous hemorrhoid I would ever have to deal with the ends would justify the asspain means.
The dreams of a trapped man are strange indeed.