I have started talking to one of my plants. It's one of those plants that are popular in offices, with a plentitude of dark green, long, tapered fronds which nod amicably when you breeze past them. This plant is in very poor condition - it came from my workplace, where it suffered from longterm bureaucratic neglect, and so I took an executive decision to rescue it and bring it home for rehab. It now has only one, very short, sad frond left: I had to amputate all the others when they turned brown and crispy.
However, in recent weeks I have noticed some signs of healing: a tiny, fragile, pale green shoot sprouting from the dead dryness. I decided this morning that I could perhaps speed this growth along, by offering vocal loving-kindness and plenty of good music. I've been chatting with it this morning, explaining what I was doing and what all the racket was (I was hoovering, which I worried might upset its delicate constitution); I also promised it some Beethoven later today, as I think it might like that.
Am I mad? I notice a voice in my head asking. Not knowing exactly what lunacy is, I find myself unable to comment. Perhaps this is my first step towards becoming a mad cat lady. But there has been a great deal of research on positive thinking, and even if my budding friendship with my plant is illogical and unfounded, it makes sense to me that in a house with very few life forms (me, my plant, my hyacinth and my bathroom spider), we should reach out to each other. If it is responding to me, is it the plant's fault that I am unable to understand its language? It might be giving me clear instructions on its needs and wants, or answers to life itself. It must think I'm dense to disregard this information.
I shall post progress updates. And stay away from cats.
However, in recent weeks I have noticed some signs of healing: a tiny, fragile, pale green shoot sprouting from the dead dryness. I decided this morning that I could perhaps speed this growth along, by offering vocal loving-kindness and plenty of good music. I've been chatting with it this morning, explaining what I was doing and what all the racket was (I was hoovering, which I worried might upset its delicate constitution); I also promised it some Beethoven later today, as I think it might like that.
Am I mad? I notice a voice in my head asking. Not knowing exactly what lunacy is, I find myself unable to comment. Perhaps this is my first step towards becoming a mad cat lady. But there has been a great deal of research on positive thinking, and even if my budding friendship with my plant is illogical and unfounded, it makes sense to me that in a house with very few life forms (me, my plant, my hyacinth and my bathroom spider), we should reach out to each other. If it is responding to me, is it the plant's fault that I am unable to understand its language? It might be giving me clear instructions on its needs and wants, or answers to life itself. It must think I'm dense to disregard this information.
I shall post progress updates. And stay away from cats.
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