I bought a few new houseplants and repotted some of my old ones to give them more space to breathe and fresh soil. This is just ordinary happy thoughts for the ordinary happy thread.
The WTF comes with the... I don't know, desperate joy that came with it. To tangibly, palpably handle my hobby, to nurture my neglected houseplants, to dabble a little with cuttings and seeds. Sprawled out on the floor of my kitchen, a sheet of newspaper to catch most (and specifically only most) of the loose soil spilling out of plantpots and between fingers, the tattoo of occult-themed progressive rock streaming through my ears, dinner and chores and beer and social network as only distant satellites to the singular maelstrom at hand. The livewire hum of the anxiety that beset me yesterday was walled off by immutable, thoughtless, perhaps slightly manic focus.
I needed that, but that I needed that, well, I don't know. Perhaps I'm too online and need to touch grass (or green friends) more often. Maybe that harrowing, hollow pit inside that the anxiety echoes a long way from, that essential incompleteness, cast its voice a little loudly today. Maybe winter's just bearing down on me. Prolly a bit of all of the above, and the above will prolly always be a problem.
I still haven't figured out which of my houseplants are harboring the fungus gnats.