I'm not saying I'm a terrible plant mother because I've kept some stuff alive for over a year, and I've grown produce I can actually feed other humans. The problem is, I kind of forget they exist if they're not in my immediate line of sight. Like, when COVID happened, I stopped leaving the house as often, so everything by my front door just slowly shriveled up into miserable little clumps of brown neglect. But all the shit in my kitchen stayed alive! Which probably says a lot about how I manage my feelings [emotional support cookies], but anyway...

The sun is shining upon Texas once more, and it's that very brief window of time where I can sit outside without being absolutely destroyed by mosquitoes. It's literally always boob sweat season up in here, because with great power comes great amounts of perspiration. But it's not quite hot enough for the boob sweat to reach my knees yet, so: it's tolerable outside.

With tolerable weather, I am always inspired to buy tiny containers of helpless victims, and bury them deep in the dirt. Read: IT'S PLANT-KILLING SEASON!

It occurred to me today that Bae is exceedingly patient with me, because I've murdered A LOT of plants. Don't get me wrong-- I've tried to keep them alive, mostly. At one point, I was really into houseplants, and I even had a few humidifiers going for the more sensitive {diva asshole} ones. I watered, fertilized, amended soil-- I did do some of the things, for awhile. But some of those little fuckers died anyway! I Googled "why does my calathea hate me," and I put in the work to make her love me, and this is the thanks I get? No, thank you, ma'am. I prefer caring for things that can actually communicate their needs, instead of just dramatically fainting and turning brown one day because I watered her at 3pm instead of at dawn. Screw that.

And yet, Bae still says "oooh" and "aaah" when I show him whatever plant I have recently acquired, as though we both don't know this thing only has a 30% chance of making it to the end of the month. Given that I can keep the same 6 or 7 of them relatively stable as long as I can see them every time I wander into the kitchen to grab another handful of Goldfish crackers, he seems to think I'm a good Plant Mom and the dead ones are just assholes. I appreciate that about him.