The fish terrarium I made a few weeks ago to house the [surviving] aloe plant that I rescued from the garage sale proved to be too much of a temptation for someone who shall remain nameless, and one by one the plants inside were murdered.
So I decided to change the theme of the terrarium from desert oasis to deserted island beach, and I did this:
I included two types of moss and no other plants. I sealed up the mouth of the fish bowl with Press N Seal and set it on the bathroom vanity. Let them want! They shall not have my plants!
Then I made a new desert terrarium with a glass vase they cannot get into...
I will not be foiled by felines!
I'm not exactly sure what drives me to have a battle of wits with three cats, but it's a necessity. I don't really ask for much in life, but I want plants right now, and I won't be denied - certainly not by four-legged people who don't even pay rent. I'm getting my way no matter what I have to do. I don't know if this is fueled by the idea that I'm a strong person and if I want something I will find a way to have it, or by the feeling I have of being somewhat mired in this phase of my life, where I don't have as many options as I used to and I want to have some semblance of control. I'm falling into the 'between' generation, with teenagers on one side and an aging parent on the other, and I think I'm looking at a number of years of still being tied down when I want to travel and do things and not be fettered. It's not an overwhelming feeling but one that I'm aware of, so I'm trying to combat it so it doesn't become a psychological problem for me. I don't want to end up feeling trapped by the trappings of middle aged life - even though that may be inevitable for a while.
I find myself lately in the company of several friends whose lives have changed drastically - or who want to drastically change their lives - and while, by comparison, I have it damn good, I still see this as an age when there's often a paradigm shift in how we live. I'm the one who's happy with my existence. I like my job, I like my house, I like my life - but I'm increasingly concerned that too much sameness will make me not like it, so I have to have something to occupy my restless mind.
The writing used to be the thing, and lately - especially during the summer, I find that it's not any more. I spend much more time trying to find ways not to write than I used to spend wishing I was writing. I'm content now not to be writing, where for a decade I wasn't content unless I was writing. This worries me because by definition, I am a writer. I've been one for 37 years, and though I've spent a lot of time fantasizing about not being one, I've never really not been one. Now I'm starting to be less a writer and more just a regular person and I'm asking myself what am I if I'm not a writer? Or am I just a writer who goes through a seasonal slump that will go away in a few weeks when fall starts again?
I'll let you know when I decide. Right now I'm off to try to write. Or find something else to do that isn't writing .
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