Dear Houseplant,

We have had so many wonderful times together. Like that time I forgot to water you for a whole week.

Or that other time I forgot to water you for a whole 3 days.

Or that other time I forgot to water you for who knows how long.

.....

Sure, you are likely to get pot-bound one of these days, as we all do. We all have to face that one day we will be pot-bound and no longer to sustain this world. But not now. Now is not your time.

I will get the water and you will see, yes you will, the great sunlight that almost makes it through my tinted apartment windows. You will silently watch me spend hours trying to buy things on eBay and laugh. You will smell the air in the afternoon and munch on carbon dioxide coming from exhaust pipes. You take a long breath of oxygen at night to endear your Krebs cycle and your roots will thank you. And everyday a small shoot will appear out of you and you will be surprised.

These things you will remember.

It is hard to believe I started this thing in April of '03 muttering thoughts of insecurity and loneliness. It will 10 years come next April, I will be 30 years of age by then. So in a moment of nostalgia and a curiosity I took a look at my post archive and came up with a host of figures:

I have posted 1338 entries not including this one.

My median is 10 per month.

The most entries I have ever posted in a month is 36.

The least amount of entries I have ever posted in a month is (not withstanding zero): 2

My most productive years are:
2010: I had 305 entries
2009: I had 239 entries
2003: I had 167 entries

My least productive years are:
2007: I had 24 entries
2006: I had 73 entries
2004: I had 80 entries

Longest time without posting anything was an entire year between Nov '06 and Nov '07. Ironically one of the hardest times in my life.

I have posted 67 entries so far this year.

Why is everything so keen on living?
We shelter in caves-houses-ponds
What is the other option?
Apparently it isn't a good one
All these other animals-insects-creatures
That do the same
We shelter against and hold on
We get lonely
When what matters is no longer
And then we find something else
We adapt

I tried the homemade stuffing once
When I was younger when my tastebuds were much sensitive
I didn't like the celery

The heat indices indicated that record temperatures were to befall Gary, Indiana this particular summer in 2017. The plants constricted their roots and thirsted for water in 110 degree heat. Thomas could see them under the earth as they gasped for their last breath, trying to pull water only to come up with nothing, their leaves wilting and their fruit shrinking to form ridges on the surface of the skin. Thomas could see the grass become tensile and flaky, the ground hard, shedding pebbles it once was able to fathom. Irrigation equipment rusted and gleaned in the sun, the hoses followed Thomas as he watered another tree. Then the hoses followed Thomas again, he looked up at the sun and adjusted his floppy canvas hat, his features pink from the head down and muttered to himself, “I need to get to field six by tomorrow, I have got to irrigation to it by tomorrow, they will just have to make it to tomorrow. This is what plants are prepared for; they can’t pick their feet up and look for a water source. I have got to get to field six…this sand doesn’t hold water for shit…”

Thomas woke in a sweat, the darkness concealing the sand in his head. Thomas looked over at the clock that read four o’clock, his eyes wide. He got up and urinated in the toilet situated in the clean but sparse bathroom. He turned the light on and stared at his half naked body. His clear blue eyes bloodshot and his features droopier than he remembered when he first decided to take over the orchard, he turned off the light switch and stumbled back to his bed. His thoughts recorded scenarios; he had to bring the irrigation equipment from Field One to Field Six. He had come across a particular variety of apple that was rare but also could not tolerate drought. Thomas knew that when the cells ran out of water, vacuoles needed to be punctured in order for water to get to the mitochondria. This is the same response that a plant takes in extreme cold,a plant knows no difference. Either extreme just means less water; Thomas wondered why he didn’t see cacti in the Arctic, if it weren’t for their fleshy skin and their entirely different way of taking in water.

“Plants have made it this far in the history of time for a reason, honey. Your fruit isn’t really wilting; I went out and checked the other day. The ground was perfectly moist.”

Marie stared at Thomas longingly and Thomas sighed, “The ground isn’t moist, no it isn’t, it can’t be. It has to rain, it just has to.”