WE ALL FLOAT DOWN HERE

We have a new ritual. We normally sleep like a baby. Head hits the pillow and we are gone.
But we had some french drains installed last month in our backyard. We thought spending 4000 bucks on our new house would be fun. In our mind the finished product would look like the 12th hole at Pebble Beach.
But it was a nightmare. The drains were poorly installed, and now our backyard looks like Fukushima.
We lay awake, thinking of how we are going to fix them; how much it will cost to bring the guy whose bid we DIDNT go with in to fix them; how much crow we will have to eat to do so; googling up how to properly install a french drain in the dark on the phone at 3:00a.m. , the price of topsoil, sharpshooter shovels, pallets of grass, maybe a flagstone patio; contemplating that water will not drain uphill in that spot we pointed out to the installer; visions of a tsunami erupting from the drains, snakes sewer rats flotsam and jetsam, and a weird clown named Pennywise sitting in my kitchen laughing at me; the flood carrying our flatscreen TV, sofa cushions, Laz-Z-Boy, all our worldly possessions and mineral resources being carried downstream to the east fork of the Trinity river; then looping back into the resentment we have against the SHOEMAKER that SCREWED us in the first place. He broke our fence and stole our baby crowbar. Our dads baby crowbar, worth a couple hundred dollars sentimental value alone.
Do we have the energy to take this on and fix the drains ourselves?
Not if we don't shut off the brain and get some sleep.

BEEP BEEP STEVIE BOY!