The Terror known as the Gas Weed Whacker

During a deployment, the spouse left behind has little control (aside from the Power of Attorney that gives us all control) of our emotions and when and where we are going to have a break down. Imagine walking on an emotional tight rope: everything is fine as long as you keep your balance, one wrong breath and you fall which results in an emotional breakdown. The key is balancing through the breaths we take, for me it is about controlling what happens during my days. My days are planned out so that everything that is done, I know I can do, this helps me keep my breath balanced so I don't fall. After all, deployments are taken one breath at a time.

This morning I intended to do some yard work, which I have done numerous times, it was something I knew I could do...knew I could control. But before HB's departure, he upgraded our electric weed whacker with a gas one. The concept seemed easy enough, rather than an "on" button all you have to do is press the red button 6 times, switch the lever to "Start", pull the cord and hit the trigger which switches the lever to "Run."

So I:

Push the red button 6 times...turn the lever to start...pull the cord...hit the trigger....

Push the red button 6 times again...turn the lever to start....pull the cord...hit the trigger....

turn the lever to start....pull the cord....hit the trigger....

pull the cord...hit the trigger...

pull the cord...

step on the weed whacker and pull the cord....

stand up-right...step on the weed whacker...pull the cord...

pull the cord...pull the cord...pull the cord....

Threaten the weed whacker...pull the cord....pull the cord...

Threaten Craftman...pull the cord...pull the cord....

Put gas in the weed whacker...push the button 6 times...put the lever on "Start".....pull the cord....

smoked a cigarette as I pulled the cord....

Cry....pull the cord...pull the cord...

After 35 minutes I fell off my tight rope. I called my dad (who's 2 states away) for help (what he was suppose to do from 2 states away, I wasn't sure), but he wasn't near his phone. So I attempted to start the weed whacker again. Instead of starting, I broke down and balled in my front yard. Crying ment that I lost control of myself, which made me angry so I cried some more. Realizing I'm crying over a weed whacker and how retarded that is made me angry as well, so I cried some more (it was a horrible cycle).

I am the only one on my street that doesn't go to church on Sunday mornings, so no one came to my rescue as I threw a fit in my front yard. Not knowing what to do, I called a friend who's husband was still home and lived close by. Within minutes a white PT Cruiser (which is as good as a white knight) pulled up. Sheri comforted me by telling me that she threw her weed whacker across her yard when it wouldn't start, so I shouldn't feel bad. Her husband, of course, started my weed whacker in one go....

He schooled me on the art of starting a gas weed whacker and after chatting with my dear saviors, they were off.

With a new confidence and getting over my cry-baby- act, I confronted the demon Craftman produced to harass women, and it started.

Feeling good now, I began to weed whack my front yard. Unfortunately, half way threw I ran out of string......figures....