Oh, hello, Internet. It’s nice to see you again. You look great — have you been working out? Huh. Myself? Well, it’s been quite a time, I can tell you! (I would continue this meme, but I grow weary. Let’s move on.)

It really has been quite a time, if by “a time” you mean “a weekend.” I started work on Saturday and discovered that bakeries? They need workers at ass o’clock in the morning. This is something I understood with my brain, but did not apply to myself in a logical fashion. Hence my utter shock and dismay when my alarm clock went off half an hour before ass o’clock. Thankfully, I found it easy to adjust and went skipping about the house going “tra-la-la” decided I’d use that early morning time to do a bit of gardening as preparation for the bitter unpleasantness of WORK. EARLY, EARLY WORK. ON A WEEKEND.

Work itself was not at all unpleasant. It’s repetitive right now — I’m learning how to ice a cake with whipped cream, and all I do is ice a tiny cake, scrape off the icing, ice the tiny cake again, repeat ad infinitum. On Sunday I started giving myself rewards and motivators, things like, “If I get this cake iced correctly in under 20 minutes, I can play with the airbrusher for five.” That was all right, so I think I’ll probably make it through the training phase and into the “hey this job is kind of cool” phase. Also, this cannot be overestimated: They are paying me money. At the end of the pay period, I will go into work and be handed a check, which I can sign and exchange for honest-to-goodness cash. I can then exchange that cash for goods and/or services at will. This is a brilliant system, and I only wonder why nobody ever thought of it before.


So! Yes, work is quite all right. You know what is not so all right? MY FUCKING DEAD TOMATOES. It seems that two of my tomato plants wanted me to be a stay-at-home mommy to them and killed themselves in protest of my joining the workforce. Remember when I said up there that I used my early alarm as an excuse to get out in the garden? Well, what I did not mention was the horror I found when I went outside:

For comparison, let’s just see how those tomatoes looked the day before:

The tomatoes on the right are the very same tomatoes in the first picture. Those pictures were taken less than 16 hours apart. I have no idea what happened. It’s not bacterial wilt, it’s not underwatering, it’s not overwatering, it’s not lack of sunshine or delicious fertilizer. Since then, my Early Girl tomatoes have also given up the ghost. I’ve no idea what in the holy hell is wrong with these plants, but I am bitterly disappointed. The big tomatoes are, thankfully, starting to bounce back, but about 75% of the plant just died. It’s like starting over again with seedlings. I am displeased.

The good news is that my amazing psychic powers led me to visit the garden center early on Friday morning. I only intended to pick up a cherry tomato plant, but instead I walked out with these:

They are wonderful and healthy and I’ve already informed them that suicide is not an option. Here’s hoping that they listened.


5 Responses to Blahg.

  1. Nice writing style. I will come back to read more posts from you.

    Susan Kishner

  2. lethal says:

    That’s pretty emo.

  3. Anne says:

    Tomatoes need lots of water? I don’t know, I should ask my mother-in-law. She’s been growing tomatoes since the 30’s.

    Well done on getting a job!

  4. dedanna says:

    Sara they’re not dead – they’re just too hot. Pull them in to partial shade, and they’ll come back in a few days. Wish I could’ve seen them before now. I hope you see this before you do away with them. xoxoxo.

  5. sarawr says:

    No, the wilted parts were dead. After a couple of days of being wilted, they crisped and browned. I cut back the dead parts (about 75% of the plant), and what’s left seems to be doing fine now. Most likely it was root rot; that container wasn’t draining as well as it was supposed to. I drilled some extra holes in it and the remainder of the plant is doing fine so far — I’ll just have to regrow it like a seedling.

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