new friends: blossom, mercury, black-olive, dreamtiger, skirt. the air plants names are interchangeable for now. blossom is my venus fly trap! mercury is that amazing fuck of an art piece of a cactus. and like yeah, they totally came in that carefully cut brown paper bag. actually, they were transferred from a slightly wider bag to that bag. "i can tell you're emotionally attached to plants. me too," i said to the cashier, before i went into detail about relating my depression to my enormous and ridiculously healthy spider plant who i spend a lot of time staring at.
everyone else is doing well, too. my mint are growing roots. lavender in the house has not kept moths away even a smidgen, but like, that's okay because i've made great friends with all these bugs in my room, which kinda reminds me exactly of the first bit of ramayana. how he meditates covered in petrified ant hills? but these buggies are going to die soon, because i got a venus fly trap, y'all.
not exactly sure what the st. johns wort are doing, but they're hanging in, at least. my yellow-white roses still haven't bloomed except for half a sec early june, but check this out- my black-red-velvet roses developed a fragrance, as did the cheap-o seizure-pink ones. they didn't give off fragrances at all when we got them. wtf? is this a sign of optimal health or something? that'd be great. i don't talk to any of my plants, because that's just not my thing. my mother talks to the vegetable garden all the time, and i wonder if my silent relationship with the plants is connected to my utter lack of imagination and black heart?
at least, i know they're not going to answer in my taught language. silence is the answer to all, after all.