It never fails. Right around this time every year, I begin to feel the old urges coming on.
I try to fight them. But it is very difficult. All around me, it seems the world is plotting against me. It’s so hard to resist the temptations. The stores are filled with samples, small but promising, providing a glimpse of a wonderful future filled with wonder if only I purchase these for just a minimal fee. Books and magazines flaunt the porn of this obsession. In every neighborhood there is someone who shares my affliction.
Months ago, it was much easier. I promised myself I would be strong. I told myself over and over that I could do it. Even after all of the years of failure, I really thought I could do it this time….just like the last 10 times.
It is always the same.
Those who share my struggle will recognize it. Yet there is no 12-step program designed for us. No sponsors. We are on our own to fight it.
Each year I convince Merle to help me, and every year he gives in when I break down. He knows he wouldn’t be able to talk me out of it. He gave in again this time and was with me when I lost the fight this week. My husband becomes an enabler, and turns a blind eye to the money that he knows I will spend to feed this sickness; even encouraging my hope that this time things will be different.
It would all make sense if only the rush would last a little longer. That is part of the problem-I always forget how things end. In the beginning, I start out with high hopes. Visions of success fill my head, a dizzying array of color and design swim before my eyes. Not even the sure knowledge of the physical pain that will inevitably result in the aftermath of the binge can restrain me as once again I give in to this disease.
Within just a few weeks, I will lose the buzz, I will find the requirements necessary to keep it going to be boring and time-consuming. Then my guilt will kick in. The evidence of my neglect will be everywhere, its haunting presence mocking those early optimistic dreams. It always ends badly.
They say that the first step toward healing is to admit that you have a problem.
My name is chlost, and I try to be am a gardener.
Just My Life 
LOL You really had me on tenterhooks!!!!
By: kaydennison on May 15, 2012
at 8:45 pm
It is a big step, this admitting of your addiction. But, at least, it’s a safe and sane thing to be addicted to.
You sound like you’d get along with my friend Trish… though, she’s got it worse than you. She went to classes to become a Master Gardener.
By: John on May 15, 2012
at 8:58 pm
I thought that might be where you were going! It is a very seductive thing, gardening.
By: Secret Agent Woman on May 18, 2012
at 3:05 pm
I no longer go into gardening shops. It stops the urge. LOL
By: mageb on May 18, 2012
at 5:10 pm
As you know, I am a lawyer, a writer, an artist, mother, wife, daughter, aunt, and sister. I draw, paint, collage, write, make drapes, children’s clothes, and meals. I walk the dogs, teach art classes, take depositions, try cases, speak to clients, do reports, and represent my office at meetings.
None of which make me as inordinately proud as getting out of my car every night and admiring the wide edging I dug around the big front garden bed, the edging I have dreamt about for 10 years, the edging for which I lost 125 pounds and had a new knee installed.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
By: Loretta on May 19, 2012
at 9:07 pm
From the first sentence, I knew what of you wrote. I’m crazily in the grips myself–with the addiction fed this year since Byron’s working at a green house a mere mile from our house (he gets a 30% discount!). I had a truckload of dirt dropped off yesterday, as part of garden expansion…and here, I can’t even keep up with the weeding of current spaces. It’s glorious, even though I can hardly stand up.
I chortled today when I found out the lady across the street refers, in her life, to the garden center as “the casino.”
By: Jocelyn on May 19, 2012
at 11:08 pm
I wish I had that addiction but my dad killed it in me when he had me weeding and picking his huge ever berry strawberry patch after school.
Other then the De-tassling I did in the summers of my teens I have avoided any and all gardening. If I ever strike it rich I’ll hire a nice young Gardner 🙂
By: gigi (Jean Schiebel) on May 27, 2012
at 3:13 pm
The thought of a hiring a gardener has been running through my head lately. My sister, who has an immaculately landscaped lawn just has someone come and do all of it. Wow….that does sound wonderful. And again-a farm experience in your past—detasseling corn! I had to walk the beans, and put up hay when I was growing up. It was character-building work!
By: chlost on May 28, 2012
at 8:25 am
I lived in St.Peter, and teen jobs usually meant Green Giant Factory or De-tassling.. .35 cents an hour with an extra 10 cents if you stayed till the end..We felt rich at the end of the summer
and it all went to school clothes 🙂
By: gigi (Jean Schiebel) on May 28, 2012
at 9:59 am