I have officially killed my mint plant. I don’t know what went wrong with the poor thing, but for the past several weeks, it has been slowly getting smaller and smaller leaves while certain shoots died off altogether. Then I got up this morning, and it was all wilted and most of the leaves were shriveled up.
This is not new behavior for plants of mine. I have killed cacti and aloe plants, where my friends have shoved their houseplants away in dark corners and forgotten to water them for days and days, and their plants just keep on carrying on.
I don’t understand this phenomena. I can take care of animals without a problem, so you would think I’d be able to keep a simple houseplant alive. But apparently not. On the bright side, my English ivy plant is still going. I think I’ve solved the riddle of the brown edges (too much water, apparently), and it is slowly growing. I’m going to the greenhouse later on to see about a different plant to replace the mint. Maybe I’ll get some more ivy or something else that I’ll have a harder time killing.
I’m taking part in National Novel Writing Month this year. I had started last year, and then got sick about a week into it and stopped. I’m on a roll so far, having reached the first daunting goal of 10,000 words. I have no illusions about the publishibility of this work, but that isn’t the point of this exercise. Not for me, anyway. I’m just trying to see if I can hold a narrative thread and develop the characters through 50,000 words.
As a result of my spending every spare minute writing, I haven’t had a chance to read anything. I still have the last part of The Supernatural Enhancements to read, and Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet has been untouched in my bag for the past week. To achieve my fifty book Goodreads goal for this year, I think I’m going to have to read some of my smaller books of poetry.
Darn. I’m going to have to read my illustrated copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, and E.E. Cumming’s 100 Selected Poems.