I do this terrible thing where I fall in love with my plants and take such good care of them, and then I buy more. I imagine, on my porch and in my living room, a breathing, talking, jungle of greenery all living out their life cycles under my care.

And then I don't water them for two weeks. I had this pot of pretty oregano that died, but I never uprooted it. Then I put a pot of mint on top of it, and not only did it thrive, but the oregano came back to life and grew through with the mint; and they were the most beautiful, fragrant pair, and now I think they're both dead. Got to be. Just look at em.

Oh, make no mistake--they don't all die. Because, despite my neglect and much to my chagrin, my plants love me. Why they bother to hang gamely on to life through droughts in the middle of heat waves can only be attributed to some act of will. In fact, Most of them live, and of those that die, Most of them come back. I have a plant from my grandma. I have plants from my mom. I have one plant that Loves to die and come back.

So despite the fact that I suck at taking care of them, I love them all the time. I love them as I pass them and think about watering them, and then go read a book. What the fuck?

12:38 a.m. 2004-10-13�