For some terrible unknown reason, I torture all my plants. It’s better than my pets, or my children I suppose, but still, it makes me wonder if I’m secretly crazy and will someday boil over with maniacal laughter as they buckle my hands together and cart me off to the rubber room. I could lie and tell you that I don’t do it on purpose, but what would be the point in that? I would have to be blind not to see them crying out to me for water . . . begging for just a drop . . . wilting day by day. Eventually I cave and give them what they desperately need, generally speaking I’m not a plant killer. As long as they are fairly hardy.
I’d like to say that I’m just far too busy to get around to that task, but that’s silly too, after all, it takes all of a minute and a half to water them. I could probably spare that time out of my Facebook allotment to get it done every few days. I don’t think I’d miss anything earth shattering.
And it’s not that I don’t like my plants either, I actually do like them a lot. I’d like very much to have more of them in fact, but I can’t bring myself to adopt another unsuspecting seedling in need of love and care and thrust it into my sick little world of drought and monsoons. I’m not evil either.
It’s not genetic, that’s for sure. My father has an actual greenhouse attached to his home and he raises hundreds of orchids in it. He carefully rotates them through his home as they come into bloom, lovingly spends hours watering and draining each one every few days, and they are truly a sight to behold. Sigh. Once he actually brought one to me as a gift. I think you can guess what happend there. Orchids don’t do well in stressful conditions, not well at all.
I suspect that it might be a control issue. I cannot control my children, try though I do. Even though they spend their waking hours working their way down a checklist of things that drive mommy nuts, I cannot (and would not) withhold food and water and any other basic need from them. No matter how crazy they make me, I love them both and would never harm them. I cannot control our two cats either, one of them has recently taken to crapping all over the floor in our basement, and occasionally NOT in our basement, even with a spotless litterbox mere steps away. But I love them too and would never harm either of them . . . although, if I find out which one is crapping everywhere she might start sleeping in the basement at night instead of on the couch. I cannot control many aspects of my life that regularly spin out of control. I don’t like being out of control. And a lot of the time I don’t like being so needed at every moment.
I think it gives me a little boost to take it out on my poor helpless plants. They don’t cry, they suffer in silence. Which is a mirror on how I often feel as well. And when I begin to get really down and out, when I start to feel like I just don’t have the energy to get it all done anymore I get mad at the plants for being one more thing on my ever lengthening to-do list. One more thing that needs my time and attention. But eventually I start to feel badly for them, the guilt wins out and I go pick up the watering can and apologize to each of them. I guess that deep down I really understand what they are going through. I should since I inflicted it on them.
In the end I guess I feel like I need a silent witness to my daily struggle and a few kindred spirits to help me feel understood. And it would also seem that I prefer those supporters to be completely unable to throw a fork at me or to defile my floors. Perhaps that’s not so difficult to understand after all. I should really appreciate my plants a lot more for being there for me in my times of need, and for being the least needy of all the things that require my care. Yes, I need to go make amends now to my vegetative cheering squad. And you know what? I think I’ll join them as well. We could all use a nice big drink tonight.
