ode to the squash plant

Jeremy weedeated my squash plant. I cried.

I have to go into lab today and finish taking pictures of it for the manual. Then I'll be free for the next few hours until I have to go into work at five.

Jeremy drives me crazy. Although he listens to me to the extend to hear what I'm saying and he can repeat it back to me, it doesn't HEAR the point I'm trying to make with the words coming out of my mouth. For instance, when I say "I want a garden. Here is where I planted the squash. I have marked the spot with clothes pins that are painted blue and have our names written on them. Do not cut them down. Only one plant is doing well; it's by the tree so be extra careful. I just weeded the area around it so there won't be any confustion."

Jeremy then takes that statement and twists it in his crazy head to mean "The plants are dead. Do the hell what you want when cutting the grass. Also, please cut down our rose bush. Gardens suck."

And off he goes on his merry way.