I need a weed eater

The weeds are growing. My home is overgrown. How did it get like this? Too much to do. Not enough time. Not enough money. If I could make up for them with complaints I’d be in the black. My complaints didn’t lead to action plans and finding ways to surmount the insurmountable. My complaints led me down a victim’s path full of the “victimless” crimes of lust and envy and covetousness. I wasted away hours in fantasy and wasted away my very soul as both a victim and perpetrator of my crimes against God and my wife and my calling and my very self. I wasted away and the weeds grew. I slept and drank and looked and repeated …and all the while I was wasting, the wild weeds were busy growing. They’re taller than me now. One day they’ll be taller than my home. I can’t figure out how to fix everything. I don’t know which insurmountable odd to mount first. But I do know one thing I can do. I can buy a fucking weed eater. And with that weed eater in no time I can chop down what only time will also slowly replace. But while I’m waiting for those weeds to grow back I can move on to the next patch. I can take that weed eater to every insurmountable problem in my life, though mounting them all may be akin to eating an elephant. By the way, you know how to eat an elephant right? “One bite at a time…” they say. Yeah. If you only have one mouth to feed. But I have several hungry mouths I can employ. And I’m realizing I’m pretty damned hungry too. And I’ve got one other thing I’ll bet that elephant never suspected as it imagined itself on my menu… I’ve got one more thing to help me eat that elephant I’ll bet you didn’t even see coming. Though you may have heard it through your living room window or even belt it in your hardware store aisle longingly. That’s right… it’s my brand new badass gas-powered weed eater.

Let’s fucking go…