I would just like to say here that I hate April Fool’s Day. I imagine this is what it feels like to be a paranoid schizophrenic. You go through your day knowing that anyone might be untrustworthy…or no one. Anything you read or hear may turn out to be a complete fabrication, and you’ll be laughed at for believing it; but then again it may be total truth and you may be laughed at for doubting. Your closest friends and family may lie to you. Or they may not. You don’t know.
All I have to say otherwise is that (hatred for the day aside) I feel better. My anxieties are still present, but I managed to (momentarily) clear my to-do list at work; the basil, wormwood, elecampane, and black cumin are started indoors; the leaves and dead plant detritus are mostly gone from the yard; I’ve trimmed the hydrangea (and I think I know how to trim a hydrangea, an improvement over this time last year); and I have to build my pea trellis and buy dirt, because the ground looks good for planting. Or it did before last night’s deluge. But it’s supposed to be dry for the next two or three days. Also, I found small treasures in the yard. No fooling.