I was nearly done digging the pond.  I have gotten tons done on it in the last month, and I was looking down into the mucky hole and thinking “Hey! I might be done today!” and the very next shovelful of dirt, my back went “THWANNNNG!”

“But Ursula,” you say, because you are a sensible sort, “why were you digging a frog pond by hand when you know you have a bad back and this sort of thing was likely—nay, practically inevitable?”

To which I say, “Shut up, shut up, I can’t hear you and anyway the doctor told me to get more exercise.”

That was yesterday. It rained hard last night, so even if I had completed the pond, I couldn’t do anything with it, as it’s…well…a pond at the moment, not an empty hole ready for lining. And I still have to get the field stone to edge the sucker with. (It will include a useful beach-head for critters to get in and out, but I still need the stone to weight the liner.)

However, there will be no fetching of stones, because my back is well and truly out, one of those impressive outages that send shooting pain down your hip as well. (Oh god, I’m thirty-three, I should not be crying “My hip!” and clutching at my pelvis for YEARS yet.)

Damnit. I had all kinds of stuff to do today that involved hunching! I was going to plant out onion sets! I had a cross-vine to dig a hole for, and an American bittersweet!

I want a bionic back, damnit.