Digging for Therapy.

Stabbing at hardpan soil like the madwoman I surely am, tears stream down my cheeks as I endure another episode of “what-am-I-doing-with-my-life” anxiety. I hunker down to avoid the worried looks on the masked faces of my dog-walking neighbors. Our front yard is California-sized, meaning every part of it is just a few feet from the street. But we’re only a couple of hours before the first big storm of the year, and I’m determined to get a dozen new…