Cold Springs

It is Sunday afternoon in early Spring. The weather is great, and it's spring break. I have my window open, the curtains fluttering in the gentle wind.

I live next door to a Mexican family. They're a very celebratory bunch- nearly every weekend there is some sort of gathering, or I would smell something delicious cooking. Right now they are having a pretty large party. There is someone playing the guitar, a bunch of people singing songs, a great deal of chattering and laughter. It's all very jovial. It reminds me of exactly how alone I am.

It is Sunday afternoon and I'm having chocolate ice cream on my own, in my cold room, in front of the computer watching Netflix. Or simply browsing. I'm hungry. I feel sick. My muscles ache, and nothing makes them better. I'm sniffling. I'm feeling chilled.

And all I want is to be sitting outside in the garden, soaking up spring sunshine, with family and friends, singing and eating and being merry. Perhaps I really was meant to live a Hobbit life.

I've been ridiculously exhausted all this time, so much so that I don't even know where I'm standing now. It feels like I'm standing on the beach, the waves pulling away the sand packed under my feet. I look at the world through detached eyes, for why shouldn't I? There is nothing here for me.

The curse of having been happy once is that when you're not- all the music and the joy in the world can't replace that. It just ends up pooling at your feet- and you feel colder than ever.

My Child Will Probably Die.

I've never wanted children. Economically speaking children are terrible investments, with little to no return. Raising kids is a luxury only the well off can afford (and not be miserable after).

As I reach the age where I live alone and take on responsibilities for myself, I realize that perhaps I was simply aware of my short-comings as a general human being. Things I take care of tend to die a lot. My pets and potted plants live an extremely short life with me.

Right now my venus flytrap is a blackened little stub sitting sadly in its cow-printed pot. I put it in the full spring sun, so it looks even sadder next to the vibrant blooming weeds flowers in the garden. All my research tells me that my plant isn't dead: it's hibernating. Yet it's now a warm 23˚C (74˚F for all you Americans) and spring has been in the air for more than a week.

It reminds me of the cactus I used to have back home. At first it would be green and vibrant, perhaps it would even have a flower off to the side. Then as I keep it in my room for a couple of weeks it starts going soft and taking on a dirty shade of brown, even as I water it religiously every week. (It's a cactus, I learned my lesson after drowning my first one.)

I don't have green thumbs, this much I know. I try my hands at indoor gardens (spring onions, anyone?) and they still die very quickly. I can literally kill off even the strongest of weeds. Is this a good thing? I'm not sure.

I wonder if I can blame this on my black thumb, or is a telltale sign that I probably shouldn't even think about raising a child because I will most likely kill it off somehow. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be raising anything at all. So I guess in the end I'll just be throwing it all to le petit ami. His green thumb makes up for my lack of skill, so I guess it works!