Because of my leg it took me three sessions to get the bricks down, partly because the soil was hard digging. So it's probably taken me a month to do what I would normally do in a weekend, because that's all I can do (and people still tell me I should be taking it easy).
I walked around some beautiful gardens this morning at Beaulieu and came home inspired, bought three plants at the nearby garden centre and they are perfect. My plan is to plant so much stuff that there is no breathing space for weeds. However, we don't have sweet little green weeds, we have brambles, and ivy, and bracken and really the shady part of the garden should be turned into a woodland glade because that's the kind of stuff that grows in it. Maybe after 21 years of trying to tame it we should throw in the towel and pave the whole of the SW corner (that's a joke by the way).
I need to turn these negative feelings into gratitude for having an amazing garden, that has so much potential as well as so much wild-ness.. How many people have that luxury these days? We could be stuck in a flat with just a couple of window boxes...
But I also know my depression isn't totally about the garden. It's about me. It's about being knackered after one hours of gardening, when even taking the spade back to the shed is an effort. It's about tackling it alone, rather than the teamwork of me and Mr H. It's about not knowing how long this is going to last, right now the light at the end of the tunnel is pretty dim.
I think it's time for a cup of tea.