this may not seem like a big deal, because if you've ever been in my apartment or in any of the college dorm rooms I've lived in, you know that i love houseplants. keeping something alive when you get it that way--at least whatever hearty pre-potted, lightning-quick-regenerative vines i've acquired over the years--isn't that difficult anymore.
on the other hand, growing my own vegetables, if it works out, will be a really big deal for me. i'm excited as shit about the fact that little green sprouts are peaking through the ready-made soil pellets i planted the seeds in and then stuck under Danielle's bed last weekend, a few feet from the radiator. i feel like a kid who just got a 98 on a spelling test the next level up, like when i first rode the bike without training wheels ( i remember the tennis court), like i felt a couple weeks ago when i did a whole hour on the elliptical for the first time since i can remember, or like i felt a few hours ago when the doctor, a doctor, wanted to shake my hand after i told him what kind of work i do. (seeing the growth of the seeds actually gave me a lot MORE satisfaction than the doctor's appreciation, because i find my job so enjoyable and rewarding that it deserves no congratulations beyond that). little personal moments of pride and joy that are mine. little things that don't have to matter to anyone but me, and are delightful as-is. and i sound sappy right now... but this content that i've been feeling lately is just that startling.
on saturday i'm going to plant the rest of the seeds, a staggered second set, the ones that say on the back of the little oaktag packets that they should be planted indoors closer to the timing of the last frost. i don't know from a farmer or grower's perspective if the seed germination is one of the hard parts. for all i know, seeds always grow into green leafy life things like this and then the hard part is knowing how and when to transfer them outside, and then into bigger pots, and water and light ratios and whatnot. maybe i'll never have any tomatoes to even taste for edibility. actually i surely wont unless i pick up some more seeds or seedlings, because the mom-and-pop hardware/garden supply store i got my seeds at didn't have any. whatever, maybe nothing will ever grow past sprout-size.
germination sure seems big.
the last time i remember writing for myself at length--without prompt, assignment, or argument (what my grandfather would call Staring at One's Bellybutton)--i was in relationship drama. it was almost all internal, as i was about to break up with my college boyfriend (to date one of the best people i have ever known) and i was, for a long time on my own, slowly but surely coming to terms with the necessary end of a long, healthy, and loving relationship. i'm fairly certain that sometimes we somewhat subconsciously prevent ourselves from reaching those weighty realizations that will mean imminent and major change once we acknowledge them. anyway, i wrote about it a lot, probably because i was so worked up by the emotional battle of simultaneously trying to and trying not to know what i was feeling. i wrote my way around it, over it, and through it.
the time before that, another period i can remember when i would sit with coffee and laptop and write about whatever, like my Microsoft Word was a diary, i had just been broken up with by my high school boyfriend who, though i knew was my first and one of many to come, i had actually thought would probably love me forever. And before that, i wrote about my mom. i think that time it was assigned, i was writing about her for a class and later turned it into a college essay, if i'm remembering correctly. each time it was kinda the same deep-rooted emotional turmoil at hand as the subject of my verbosity, each time i worked through it in writing (shared or unshared) and each time i went through a period of (either minimally or maximally) angst in writing, i was a little more grown. a little more self-aware, a little less self-deprecating, a little more comfortable with myself, a little less self-conscious.
i am not experiencing internal drama right now. unless it's one that has drugged me into thinking i'm happy when i'm really miserable, i'm not in the eye of any storm, or even at the edge of any storm. don't get me wrong, i have issues and problems and dilemmas and worries and fears and aches. but i'm not in the middle of any all-consuming crisis, and it's a refreshing place to write from. for me, anyway. not gonna make any bets on the experience reading.
things making me feel alive (yes figuratively) today ( sap sap sap)
-the book i'm reading. Jailhouse Lawyers: Prisoners Defending Prisoners v. the U.S.A., Mumia Abu-Jamal.
-sun! but also the rain
-white blossoms
-fuckin bright pink nail polish (not over it)
-an email from my father
-that crush feeling i have about NYC as a place
-thinking about law.
-twitter
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