Nothing about writing today, just a bit of a vent.
I don't have a green thumb; I have a red one. Blood red. As in the blood spilled while wrangling a supposedly harmless rose bush that decided to not only give me the porcupine treatment and leave my skin dotted with tiny puncture wounds, but also managed to carve a perfect "M" into my arm.
At present, it's a safe bet that said roses have brokered an alliance with the fireants and convinced them to attack on command.
Final tally: 2 rose bushes in the ground, along with about 20 tulips... most of which were lost in the great north wind offensive as they were being placed. It's a sad day for the flower bed; many casualties, including the lovely calla lillies that now rest on the ground. Only the hyacinths seem to have escaped the carnage.
Now I must go scrub compost off my feet.... blech. Writing's so much simpler. And cleaner.