Last week I was in a funk that I am blaming on my excitement and anticipation of our trip to Mexico. (See also: Post-Nuptial Depression). I felt meh until Saturday when I went to yoga and got my hairs (all of them) done did.
I don't know if I just needed five days to readjust to a life without swim up bars, mimosas at breakfast everyday and afternoons spent lying in a hammock enjoying the breeze off the ocean and my book (Fall of Giants - review coming next week).
Or if it was the combination of sweating my face off and sitting in the chair chatting up the stylists and girl next to me as my hair got updated for the start of my 30s that pulled me up by my bootstraps.
But I'm back to my usual too many projects and too little time. Back to my better habits of not stuffing everything in my food hole without caring about smarter choices. Back to my normal (well, relatively) cheerful self.
Except for those damn azalea bushes.
It would appear that I spoke too soon when I said 4 of my 5 azaleas were doing well. In an embarrassingly short time after I wrote that post 3 more bushes promptly decided to join their short-lived brother. In a desperate attempt to turn them around, I sprinkled them with azalea food for acidity, said a prayer to sweet grilled cheebus and made sure they got a thorough dose of the holy water hose before we left for Mexico.
Alas, we got back to not only those 3 way beyond gone, but the last bush was starting to look a little wilty in the leaves. Luckily, all he needed was a little water, and he perked right up and appears to be doing well again. (KNOCK ON WOOD) My poor lone ranger. He looks so sad next to the skeletons of his brothers as I haven't found the time to dig up the dead ones.
Looks like I need a little more practice before I start my landscaping business.