It happens.

Hours and hours of work, during which you entertain a migraine and feed your salty sea blood to the mosquitos missed by the bats at dusk, last evening and this, during which you try hard to specify what means what; after all, you should know, with the help of the OED Online; all culminating in the realization that the fix is broken, you tried too hard, and some things are better just tossed.

Please god do not let it be my entire master’s degree.

I choose “nomenclature” as the name of my mandatory category here in the first place to avoid the paranoia of trying to categorize these wily offerings, and also to tip my hat (or flip my bird?) at the domineering nag that the naming process can be, especially when too many is too many and too few is too few. Playing around with prescriptions is one thing; relying upon them is heartbreak.

I heard about a cougar hit on the side of the highway today. Tell me, where does that fit in?

I heard about an information superhighway, wingbroke sound barriers, pinpointable in space if you can shut up your mouth and your eyes with your hat on your face at sunset and hear them zip ten inches over dried herring roe, representing more data than you can comprehend. So where does that fit in?

I love you. Get out of the garden.

Exactly where does that fit in? 

*These were taken outside of the garden. But boy do the twins ever put the fence through its paces.