i'm the one who likes to hurt things

i can never remember if it's the sadist or the masochist who likes to be the one inflicting the pain. i thought about looking it up, but we all know how literal google can be. i'm sure even this post is going to be enough to make the little men who live inside my computer run and tell all their little computer dwelling friends that i like weird mean porn. which may or may not be true, but that isn't exactly what i'm talking about in this particular instance.

so if you will please picture me the james spader to maggie gyllenhaal in 'the secretary' i will continue with this warped train of thought i have somehow embarked on.

really though, i'm talking about how i like to dehydrate all my house plants and then bring them back to life at the very last minute.


behold my sad little christmas cactus.

this baby has been sitting on my kitchen windowsill for over a year now. i think the last time i watered it was sometime in early march, there was definitely still snow on the ground.

i wash dishes in that kitchen every day, for no less than two hours a day (not all at once). i look into the pink ceramic pot and know that the thick, fleshy leaves of the plant are yearning for me to be the one to save it from certain death. we're not talking about neglect here, i don't forget to water it. i choose not to water it. i say 'oh plantie, you're fine. you have the very word 'cactus' in your name, that's got to count for something. hang in there til tomorrow, maybe i'll feel differently about you then. by the way, nice flower.'

but i never do.

until this morning, when b said 'LANA! throw this gross dead plant out already!!'

i obligingly answered 'sure honey, i'll do it today.'

but after he had left for work and i went into the kitchen to do the deed, i knew i was only fooling myself. i promptly drenched the dry soil with a hearty dose of tap water and put it back on my windowsill. i've seen it get way worse than this before. i give it a good 36 hours before it bounces back to its usual state of not-so-sadly-surviving.

now the planties in the living room are getting jealous. it's almost like they can smell the water that their fellow prisoner/companion was fortunate enough to receive this day. their leafy tendrils are pointing this way as i type, reaching out for me. the little bead bugs i once so delicately placed in their pots to spread some cheer have now mustered what strength they have left, uniting in a desperate attempt to force me to care for their plant-hosts.

i won't cave. not tonight, do your worst bead bugs.

(and then tomorrow b will read this post and then be all 'yeah! those ones in the living room are gross too! when are you gonna get rid of them! why do you even have plants in the first place?')

well b, i'll tell you why, because i'm a masochist (or a sadist, whatever).