Okay so currently, the threats to my continued gardening success are threefold. FIRST…it’s really hot. Sure, it’s not as hot as it could be, but the fact that it’s cooled down slightly does not take the edge off the fact of it being too darn hot. I’m not going outside and roasting to a crisp just to save my tulip bulbs from wilting a little.
SECOND…I’m very demotivated. That’s not the same thing as lazy, by the way. Laziness can be attributed to sometimes feeling a bit flat and rundown. You can’t be bothered to do something for no good reason other than the thought of it is exhausting. I’m demotivated because I look at my video streaming queue, I look at the garden, and my mind says ‘no’. I might have gone online to buy hyacinth bulbs with the express purpose of later planting them, but now the circumstances of life have conspired to stop me from doing this. It’s out of my hands. I can do nothing against this tidal wave of ‘nope’ energy.
THIRD…Mrs Dingle next door will always have nicer flowers than mine anyway, so why should I try? She’s so nice about it as well. Disgusting lovely about giving me advice on the best types of mixed hyacinths and daffodils to buy if I consider myself a beginner. And she does it all in the same breath as watering her miniature botanical garden of wonder and colourful loveliness. It’s so radiant it practically bursts over into the nearby gardens, including mine. So not only do I not have the motivation to grow anything of my own, but I practically don’t even have to. Mrs Dingle is the queen of botany, and she shares her grace with everyone in the vicinity.
But there’s one counterpoint to all this…and that’s that I’d be disappointing her. I think Mrs Dingle considers me a flower-growing apprentice at this point, so for me to tell her that I’m no longer going to try? It’d break her heart. So now I guess I’m scouring the internet for things I’ve never heard of, like ile de France tulips and such things. Mrs Dingle assures me that even I could look after them and bring them to adulthood. And Mrs Dingle *would* be the one who’d know.