Destiny on the Rocks

It's unintentional, what I do to shape my Fate. Really. It's not like I want to shoot myself in the foot with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into my little piggies.

Still, despite my efforts, I have this uncanny knack for building up what will some day tear me down. Perhaps the Human Condition is making decisions and taking actions that later create or become obstacles on the Road of Life. The world may never know.
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My Backyard is a tumble of weeds, crabby grass, and the last remnants of civilization--bits of shingle, plastic shards, rusty nails, and so on--the stuff American Dreams are made of....I have tasked my self with transmogrifying this Post-Industrial Wasteland into a Suburban Paradise.

To do so will require much blood, sweat, and cliché. Most of my labors, however, could have been avoided had I chosen more wisely some 4 years back.

It was an evil and vile shrubbery. A spiny evergreen mass that sprawled out of the flower bed and onto the strip of pavement connecting the garage and the back door. And its time had come.

From upending its terrible roots to swiftly ushering several unhappy Black Widows to the afterlife, it took some days to purge the pestilence of the plant from the flower bed. When all was done and done, there remained but one obstruction: Decorative Rocks.

I distributed their abundance along the fence line, to seal up gaps and discourage my snoopy-nosed puppy from digging his way to Freedom...Yet, despite my efforts, there remained an unsettling surplus. There were loads of them.

So I did what I thought best: I mixed the remaining rocks in with the soil of the flower bed. 'Out of sight, out of mind'. It wasn't like I was ever going to develop a Green Thumb.

Boy, was I ever a presumptuous little prat.
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Fast forward to me hunched over, exhuming each and every buried skeleton from that flower bed. A hard lesson from the School of Rock(s).

For most folks, Fate is naught but a figment of the Ego. But for me, Fate happens by my hand.
And all too often I take notice after the fact, and silently curse my fingerprints and the air I breathe.