Today, I officially tore my grafted pink cactus, Norman, to pieces. Sadness galore.
He was shriveled up and had turned from a pretty pink into a nasty bruised-banana-brown, and I almost did not recognize him. He was a sorry sight. So I took him out of his misery and decapitated him, piece by piece, plucking the mini-cacti off like they were grapes. I placed his little pink cactus balls in a platter of mangled rotisserie-chicken (which had been mine and Stef's lunch leftovers) and dumped all the soil onto the container, turning it into Norman's makeshift coffin. Poor Norman. He saw too much sunlight and had been drowned to death by a nincompoopish owner: me.
I can't believe I managed to kill a succulent cactus - the one thing in this world that requires the least maintenance. When I purchased Norman I imagined us growing old together, or at least I imagined him lasting longer than my spring quarter. Poor guy, he couldn't even survive to see San Francisco. I guess he was never meant to travel.
This means only one thing: if I can't take care of a cactus, I may not be able to take care of a dog. Dang it. And I really, really, wanted a chow chow. Guess I'm gonna have to learn from this. Goodbye Norman. :(
Norman in his hey-day.
2 comments:
June 23, 2008 at 10:38 PM
that's terrible. from the looks of it, i can't give you an orchid for your birthday. j/p.
July 15, 2008 at 3:06 PM
Dommage... en fait chez moi, il n'y a que deux plantes qui me restent...
I recommend aloe.... nothing kills them... and philodendroms... you can leave on vacation for like 3 weeks and they'll be fine when you come back.
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