Cranky musings of a pregnant whiner who does not appreciate nature the way she should

Every hour spent working in the yard confirms to me how much I hate working in the yard.

When we are done, sweaty and tired, itchy and achy, it might help if I felt a sense of accomplishment but I don't. What I feel is a sense of despair, that we will never have enough time, enough money, enough energy, enough willpower, enough know-how to ever transform this potentially beautiful yard from the white trash dumping ground of the dead and dying (except for the prickly weeds, which are flourishing nicely) that it currently is.

Chris and I recently saw a t.v. show where drug smugglers offered to landscape the yard of an elderly lady for free, so that they could secretly grow marijuana in the corner. They did good work, and her yard looked great (aside from the plot of weed - although, to be fair, that also was well-maintained and looked about as nice as a garden of illegal drugs can.) Is it wrong of me to be jealous of this scenario?