A & I are notoriously bad at taking care of plants. Give us a cat, and that thing will get pampered more than first born babies. But give us a plant, and we both forget about its existence for multiple days at a time.
Needless to say, plants do not thrive well in our household.
Last year on my birthday, my aunt sent me a plant, and I vowed I’ll take good care of it. In fact it grew exponentially those first few months, encouraging me to think, we can totally do this, this one won’t be tortured and sent to plant heaven. That reduction in photosynthesis will not be on my hands.
But life happened. The usual, always running to try and make it to office type life. Where you remember some days, get angry at A for never remembering at all, and simply move on. I’m not proud of this.
We almost killed Planty, again.
Yes, I named it. And not a very innovative name. But it’s a start, okay?
And for the last one week, as I try to exercise more mindfulness in my day, getting up a little earlier so I have more time to do things I want to do (and not just exercising and rushing to make breakfast and then make it to my work desk), I’m adding this step into my routine.
Watering Planty. You’d think it shouldn’t be that difficult. I even spritz it with some water and talk soothingly.
Guilt can make you do so much.
So here’s saying a little prayer, that Planty makes it. He almost hasn’t. Some parts of him collapsed and a lot of him is still browning. But I’m convinced that this time I can do it.
Who knows, maybe I’ll soon be adding more to Planty’s family.
So many more to kill.
Okay, where did that voice come from? Wtf brain?