Finding Zen, a.k.a. Killing Printers

My brother gave me a Zen Garden (contains; rake, sand, rocks and garden tray) (their semicolon, not mine) for my birthday.  He thinks I deserve some sand of my own to play in since I'm George the Monkey Cat's designated turd scooper.  He's nice like that.  My nephew even brought me a sparkly driveway rock to add to it.

(Cat Side Note:  Why does my cat act like I'm stealing from her when I'm cleaning out the litter box?  I'm serious, she pats my arms down, shakes my collector bag and looks at me as if to say, "Where are you going with my babies?!!?  I made those you know.  I put them there for a reason!"  Anyone else's cat/s do this?)

(Crazy Cat Lady Side Note:  Did I really just blog about cat poop?)

I finally took the garden out of the box today.  I was expecting a bright burst of light into an exploding moment of enlightenment only to be met with the Styrofoam Floaty of Static Clingy-ness and a packet of silica gel giving me the stink eye.   My first thought was "I'm going to need more sand."  When I released the trapped sand from it's tiny confines of a zip lock bag it did pour out to be enough.  Clearly my perspective is off (and not just about sand).  I'm so out of whack lately that I had to look up images on how to play with this thing.  

So I'm going to work on it.  Real hard.  And I do hope to find some zen.  It's been a long, hot summer, my brain is fried and my heart is a bit hurty.  

Who wants to start a pool on how long (or short) it will take me to knock said garden off my desk, therefore puking it's falling guts into my printer?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?