My apartment is currently littered with dead bodies.
Brown withered husks that used to be soft and green now hang lifelessly down my bookcases or sit rotting on my window sills.
Some rational part of me knows I should drag their quickly deteriorating carcasses down to the bins and send them onto their next life, but instead, I choose to inflict a special kind of torture upon myself when each night I return from work to a home decorated with death. A serial killer of the flora variety.
Over the last year, just like every other millennial woman in possession of an Instagram account, I began filling my home with plants I didn’t know the names of. I spent many hours of my life selecting just the right pots to house my new offspring in, I organised road trips with friends in search of the very best greenery, and I even wrote a story boldly declaring “Crazy Plant Ladies are the new Crazy Cat Ladies and I’m one of them.”
And then, one by one, each of my plants began to wither and rot and die and I began to very ungraciously move through the seven stages of grief…
I was still very much in the honeymoon stage with my house plants when I noticed one of my ivys suddenly looked like it had a very bad fake tan. When I reached out my hand to feel how dry the leaves were the entire frond broke off between my fingers and I swear I heard it gasp in pain. In turn, I screamed so loudly that one of my neighbours knocked on my door to see if I was OK but I couldn’t open it due to the fact that I was in midst of HANDLING A MEDICAL EMERGENCY, OK.
“This is fine..everything is fine…” I whispered hoarsely to myself over and over again while sitting on the floor of my shower at 11pm, cradling a formerly green fern in my lap while shovelling expensive liquefied plant food into its muddied pot. “It’s just a little brown, it will go away, everything will be fine.”
It must just be the weather I told myself, do plants change colour with the weather? I’d better Google that.
I’m sure it’s fine…
Have you ever had a knife stabbed through your eye and then pulled out through your nose? Well, that’s how I felt one Saturday morning when I opened my bedroom door to find my living room covered with decaying brown leaves. Tears stung my eyes as I noticed my formerly flourishing Peace Lily now resembled ET and the soil has taken on a smell that hinted at failure and regret.
“Everything in life eventually dies” I replied to my friends when they asked if I wanted to meet for brunch.