When the rain finally ended, I ventured outside to see the final outcome. I needed to see what damage had been done while I was hiding from the storm. At this point, I felt that either way, this rain could potentially set the course of the rest of my life. Or at least the next few months.
As I surveyed my garden, most plants looked like they may have survived. With a deep sigh of relief, I took a closer look and breathed in the sweet smell of dirt, rain and flowers. I sat down in the soaked earth and started to cry. The tension I had been holding onto for the last ten hours dripped out with each tear crawling down my cheeks.
My well-being depended on the state of my yard and the ferocious thunderstorm, wind and hail and threatened my livelihood as well as my sanity. I pulled the few weeds I could and caught myself before I started blowing kisses to my plants. I knew my neighbors weren’t fans so I tried to control the urges they consider to be unnatural. I knew my garden wasn’t the norm judging by my neighbors sparse backyards, but I couldn’t help myself. I also knew that if my probation officer came by to check on me during the extent of my house arrest, marijuana would get me in trouble, but the reward was worth the risk. I just needed to make sure my neighbors were well stocked and happy.
Standing Room Only 