A Star Has Rose

I've got this bouquet  of flowers that I'm looking at. It was given to me by a friend (of the male persuasion, shockingly) following my performance on Friday. I mentioned them while describing my feelings in the aftermath that night. The friend in question had brought the flowers for some reason, I think. I had the vague idea that they were just to beautify the space for the show, and don't know that there was any premeditation involved.

Upon receiving the flowers, I was pressed into several photographs, the staging of which entailed a lot of directions on how you hold flowers. I never had the opportunity before that I can remember, and so it's natural that I was a little shaky on that. Maybe I was bothered by how they were dripping wet and got on my shirt. I loved getting them, but that was just the beginning of how those flowers have been an inconvenience.

The Incident

I was terribly distraught a couple of weeks ago. I had just bought a pair of Poinsettias at the '99 Cents Only' store, and immediately began deeply investing in them emotionally. I was full of thoughts about how best to care for them. I wondered what to call them, and took some time to decide on that. I pondered where to keep them and settled on the ledge of our balcony. I watered them, and watched the first time as the water dripped down past the second story and first story balconies, both of which belong to friends. Little did I know what was to follow that water in the same fashion. I'm afraid I must call the plants Sid and Nancy, for they leapt from their place days later in an obvious attempt at self-destruction.

One, which I figure should be Nancy, landed top first, and was by far the worse of the two for their tumble. It was quite a grisly sight. The plastic pot was severely cracked and the soil was spilling a lot. Her main stalk was irreparably severed, and it was uncanny how she had already begun to wilt and dry up. It was as if her will to live was entirely gone regardless of how fatal her injuries were to prove. Resisting the urge to cry, I solemnly brought her inside and gingerly placed her in the trashcan. She may have only cost some fifty cents as part of a two-for-one deal, but she was worth far more to me.

Paternal Botany

I wrote of pets yesterday in an unflattering light, so let me show another side. A desire that has largely gone unfulfilled since I have moved to Los Angeles is that of having a pet. My whole life I had one pet or another, and it was most satisfying to love them and care for them. There were great annoyances when they would misbehave and there was deep grief when they would expire, but it was a worthwhile thing in my experience. Unfortunately, the apartment building in which I now live does not permit pets. Now that I am fully responsible for my home, I don't know that I would want one anyway. What they do allow are plants, although I cannot have an "excessive" amount.

For some time I contemplated the idea of getting a plant, and seeing that reference to them in my new lease led me to cement the plan. Of course, with the holidays coming I decided to wait a little. The weather was bad and I would be leaving town for a while anyway. I like my roommates and have no good reason to doubt their ability to care for a plant, but there was no upside to getting one at that time and entrusting it to them. Either they would care for it poorly and kill it or care for it well and leave me coming in effectively as an interloper the plant didn't really know and not its true owner. Plants are really rather intuitive, I suspect.