Plants can get pimples

I have habits that I only fall into when I feel alone. I rollercoaster through the same emotions, flip through the same familiar faces, and my mind winds through cobbled streets I never planned to revisit.

Whatever I’ve promise I’m over, in these moments, I promise I’m not.

But within seconds, I recognize these recycled sights as a sign of the times, it is the present that weighs on me, and not a stubborn past. I call it convenience instead of nostalgia, we’ve all done it, replayed an old memory to get a quick hit, knowing that at this moment, the real thing would take far too long to find.

I really can’t tell you what I think is missing. I’d have to think about it, because I feel foolish giving you a clichéd answer like “a boyfriend”. And frankly, I’m not convinced that’s the right answer.

Maybe time? Which is quite ironic, given the name of this blog.

If you ask me, I think it’s more along the lines of “something to look forward to”.

Usually these things just show up on their own, but as of yet, they haven’t. I can tell you exactly how my day will look like next Friday, and the Friday a month from now.

Thanks to COVID, we now exist within a very narrow range of uncertainty. I know exactly what I can or cannot realistically expect at any point in time, and sometimes, I really hate knowing.

And I know you’re probably saying, but Cindy, what about the little pleasures of life? Like fresh cookies baking in the oven? Or the smell of flowers blossoming in your garden? Well guess what, I already know what those things smell like. I demand something new.

Now based on this, you must think I’m some sort of grouchy old man who is never pleased at anything. But if you know me, you’ll know I’m anything but. Without you asking, I will peek into your oven every 3 minutes to check if the cookies are ready; I will react with a flurry of oohs and aahs upon seeing the one cherry tomato that you managed to grow even though I initially thought it was a plant pimple and not a tomato. I know I sound facetious, but I’m serious. I have met few people in my life who exude the same amount of chaotic energy over the tiniest things.

But friends, I have met my match. Maybe it’s COVID, maybe it’s living alone, but I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. The tiny joys of life do nothing more than temporarily bandaid the tiny holes in my bucket, instead of the huge gap from which water is just overflowing. Whoosh. Whoosh. I think a plane headed for Europe might plug that gap nicely.

It’s late, I’m getting carried away with these analogies and now picturing a plane plugging a hole in a giant bucket, and also wondering if maybe plant pimples are a real thing. One of the more obvious signs that it’s time for bed. I’ll shelf this topic for another time.