Worms and maid service

Someone stole my worm bins a few days ago. I found this out after walking 2 kilometers with a box of dried leaves - not that easy to find in May when you're in the Northern hemisphere - to supplement what was already inside. Instead, I found the two boxes gone. Who would steal worm bins? I mean it's not like gardeners would - they're generally honest and nice people. I've always said, if you plant stuff in the ground, you're much more likely to be nice. Not always though as evidenced by the gentleman in Florida who shouts at kids to get off his lawn - nonetheless, who would want two worm boxes that are full of decomposing vegetation, newspapers and worm poo? I hope they get worms.

Now my little worms are gone, and I can no longer be responsible for them. It feels liberating because I no longer need to feed them, nurture them and generally ensure their well-being in the boxes -  because no boxes, no care, no nurturing. It's a bit like having kids go off to college I imagine. It's empty worm-bin syndrome in a way. They're out in the wide world somewhere - hopefully churning through soil and being useful. What shall I do with myself now? I feel like a parent who's been set free of child rearing. The empty hours stretch before me now.

Now that the bins are gone, I won't be able to start composting again. My delicate balance of environmental recycling of organic material is gone from the patio what has blurry vistas. This means that I shall have to put soil in bags to replenish what goes from the pots on the patio. In a way this is like getting maid service because for the first time in years I shan't be making my own soil, ensuring my soil has good heart (lovely phrase), I shan't have to plunge (lovely word, thank you Miranda) my arms up my elbows to mix worm poo with dirt and sand to get the right balance of organic and inorganic. Now if only I could really get real maid service to clean up my shoebox.

This weekend has been a surreal one. 10 documents to go through and another 10 to write. That's too many documents to handle. Still, better than having to go through 45. That would have killed me. This experience opened my eyes up to no end having to go through some ructions (although I smiled through most of it) that annoyed me intensely. The unfortunate thing is, having my eyes opened means I can't go about blindly anymore not knowing. Feck. I hate this state of mind. It's tantamount to having your nose rubbed in worm poo. So what should i do? Close my eyes and go all do-lally-tap, or keep the eyes open and see what will work best for me - then execute the plan accordingly? 

Life is short, ergo - one should do something about the eyes opened when they'd rather remain close. Life is short, ergo - what's the point, just coast, the end can't be that far away.

Which would you prefer, to be blind and happy or to have sight and be completely aware of that what you think would make you happy is out of reach?

Must. Stop. Being. Buddhist.

I shall have a triple C instead. Fuck the fucktards and fuckwits. They can crash and burn. Not to mention I should challenge to say nothing but positive things - that'd be a silent run of events.