A Case of the Druthers

I've come down with a case of the druthers. 

I'd druther be ripping all of the weeds out of the hillside garden, than writing. 

I'd druther be placing large, beautiful, slabs of rock in pretty patterns, surrounded by small pea gravel, in my side yard, than writing.

I'd druther be building a wooden fence, to surround the rock patio, keeping out all of the bad and keeping in all of the good, than writing.

I'd druther be mortaring bricks together for a barbeque, to sit on the far end of the patio, overlooking the river, with a huge oval window next to it surrounded by lattice and ivy  to block the sound of the noisy bridge,  than writing.

I'd druther be planting herbs and flowers and trees in ceramic and ornate planters, and placing them all around the patio, even near the brick barbeque, than writing. 

I'd druther be bringing the hot tub down from storage, to sit on the pretty new patio, at the other end away from the brick barbeque, surrounded, too, by lattice and ivy, to keep out the noise, but open overhead to see the stars, to feel the rain, to catch snow flakes on the tongue next winter with grandchildren splashing in the water, than writing.

I'd druther unpack the patio furniture from their winter garb, to sit on the nice new patio, between the hot tub, and the brick barbeque, amidst the flowers, tress and herbs, possibly with a fake waterfall tinkling melodiously to mask the loud obnoxious sounds of cars running over the damn, tinny, steel bridge, than writing.

I'd druther be sitting in the hot tub, under the moon, listening to jazz, sipping perrier, with you, than writing.

I'd druther.