On life and dreams: the day my succulent died


So, uh, yes. That happened. Succulents are supposed to be this fairly (really) easy to care for plant. Hard to destroy, doesn’t need much water or attention. Plus, it looks pretty. Back in spring I bought my first succulent, after many attempts to care for something other than myself I thought I would be ok. I even named it George. You know, some bonding and befriending. Getting emotionally attached often works for me to keep engaged, even though this was just a plant. I thought George was a very pretty succulent. He/it was even part of my ‘100 happy days challenge’ as I thought it was a marvellous idea of me to get such a pretty looking plant that supposedly was so easy to take care of.

And then he died. George hardly lasted a season. Last week I had to throw him out after the last attempt of bringing him back to life. But the stench was unbearable. Since I live in a very tiny apartment and my nose has a sensitive sense of smell, I had no other option really.

I know George was just a plant. And, apart from my care, I know there could be a lot of different factors that possibly influenced its early death… but it just kind of hit me then and there. What the fuck am I doing with my life? Why am I doing the things I’m doing? Why do I want the things I want? And why am I liking the things I like? And do I really need to be able to take care of a friggin’ plant to succeed in life? – A dead plant made me think about all those deep and soulsearchy stuff. I know, I may be a bit cuckoo in the head sometimes (but aren’t we all?). So here’s my little announcement, to myself and to ‘the world’ that I’m taking back control. We should give ourselves a little more credit. Let’s just say that I’m better with cats than with plants. Well, cats and food.

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