One of the plants I bought to hang from the ceiling in the bedroom is not doing so well. It's not much of a mystery why. I haven't watered it in weeks, and I never remember to lift the blinds so it can get some light. I'm surprised it didn't die a month ago.
Devon and I used to blame our plant-killing tendencies on not having enough free time. However, I don't have a job or kids or even a super-engrossing hobby, so I will never have more free time than I do right now. Every day I think, "I should water that plant." Then I go do something else, like think about hugging cats.
My confession: I don't give a crap about plants. There, I said it.
I feel like I should, and so does Devon. We think plants are attractive and admire our friends' gardens. Plants can add a lot to a home's decor. But I never seem to care enough to actually water the little fuckers before they keel over.
Devon is still in denial. He says plants are important and he wants them, but the plant currently on death watch has been dying a slow, horrible death right over his side of the bed for over a week and he just noticed last night, so I don't believe him.
On the bright side, the cactus is doing really well.