It’s day 8, or 146, who can be sure anymore.
It’s been going great. I’m so patient and kind and gentle and loving with the children, there is never any fighting or slamming of doors or fond stroking of the knives in the kitchen. Our isolation is just bursting at the seams with enriching activities and adorable, coordinated dance routines set to hits from yesterday and today.
As wonderful as it’s been, being with my amazing children 24/7, making four hundred meals a day, and just loving them so so so hard, it isn’t quite enough. Because the only distraction from the crushing anxiety has been my madly spinning merry-go-round of depression, rage, and fear. Wheee!!! Anxiety! Depression! Rage! Fear! Round and round we go where we stop nobody knows!
So I want plants. Lots of plants. Since I don’t have a yard and I kill almost everything I touch, I’m starting small, with things I can grow on my balcony. I’ve tried and failed at this before (you can’t see it in this picture but I have a nice little collection of dead plants and broken dreams in the corner of the deck, begging me to add to it). What better time to try again than a global pandemic.
This here is lavender.
And you know something? It helps, a little. A calm, quiet, lovely little pleasure, taking care of these tiny things. watering them, moving them into the sun in the morning, bringing them in at night when it gets cold. I like it very much.
Alas, my skill at killing plants far surpasses my skill at keeping them alive. So say hello AND goodbye to these sweet green sprouts. Soon they’ll be as withered and useless as my hope for the future. And away I’ll slink, back into the darkness, dropping another addition to my pile of death, wondering who my next victim will be…
- I have enough toilet paper (I think)
- Life has gotten weird