Morguefile I was delirious as the lawn mower was choking on the thick dew-stained grass under the blazing hot sun attempting to make my yard somewhat presentable. It was only a matter of minutes before I was going to crawl to the shed to get the sledgehammer so that I could put the poor mower out of its misery. How could I possibly do this to my mower which only wishes to cut my grass, not “murder it” by taking down “mountains of vegetation.” That’s torture for anyone or anything which includes this innocent machine. Cami intercepted me to offer a break and some water. I refused. The sounds of thunder were approaching. “I got to get this monster lawn full of grass, weeds, tics, ants and deer droppings sliced down before the storm arrives!” I protested. Cami gave up on me, heading back inside to the AC. Instead of reaching for the sledgehammer, I retrieved my water bottle which saved me during plenty of my insane summer runs and guzzled away, trying to save mysel...