Nemesis

In the late nineties, one of the country's best gymnasts was Vanessa Atler. She won all kinds of championships and titles, but as the Olympics approached, she developed the nasty habit of falling off the bars. It was the strangest thing to watch. She could vault and tumble her way through anything, but every time she got to the bars, she would fall off. It was the same at every competition. It got to the point, I remember her saying in an interview, where it was her battle, her devil, and it was clear this was really messing with her mind. She had psyched herself out so much, you KNEW she would fall.

Nemesis is the word that comes to mind when I think of my relationship with my lawnmower. I can't explain why really, I just HATE mowing the lawn. Maybe because I'm not very good at it and I can never get the edges very well, maybe because my lawn is sloped on all sides such that pushing the mower is a challenge, maybe because I worry the neighbors are watching the spectacle of me in the yard, or maybe because the grass just keeps on growing. I look outside frequently as the days go on, wondering how long I can push it before mowing again. It's not that I don't enjoy being in the yard. I can spend hours there happily pulling weeds. Probably because said pulling requires no heavy machinery.

In all fairness, today was the first time this year I actually mowed. M did it while we were dating, and my good friend J has been doing it lately...because he's an incredibly nice person and he knows it stresses me out. I honestly feel ridiculous about it, but because I hate it so much, I don't refuse when he offers. But J wasn't around today, and I decided to man up and do it myself. I suppose it's not THAT bad once I actually do it, but that's not the point. The point is, it's my nemesis. And although I mowed today, the clock is already ticking.