Saturday evening, we arranged to borrow a pump from a friend and Sunday morning, while cutting the must-cut blooms, the rounds begin. Unfortunately I forgot to check the pressure gauge after starting up a round. The pump we borrowed was a little bit stronger than the one we had and so it cracked our sand filter. Way to go genius. But nothing a good cry in the squash patch won't fix. I think I irrigated half of them with my tears. Sometimes the floodgates open and all the strange flotsam and jetsam collecting spills on out, anxieties and exhaustion revealed, the intangible emotions manifested in some water molecules running down my face. The pond pump and I both had cracked from too much pressure. I'm thinking days like this are never a good time to evaluate your choice of career.