Lunaya Pravda

Against all that is ingrained in me, I’m trying, once again, to keep a few cacti in the house.  Given my past history with cacti, I’m clinging desperately to the idea that these poor plants aren’t doomed.

I blame nature shows.  Here I am, watching some program about all things desert-y, and the narrator starts describing how a cactus can adapt to harsh, arid conditions.  That should make them ideal for me, I tell myself.  The plants I have now are survivors; they cling to life in harsh conditions!

And then, with all the optimism and hope of a newborn babe, I obtain some poor, unassuming cactus and bring it into my House of Horrors.  I try to make it comfortable, and therein lies the problem.  My brain just can’t grasp that a cactus prefers arid conditions.  Sure, I tell myself, the cactus can manage with very little water, but it doesn’t NEED to.  In my house, no plant will go without!  This will not be a Land of Harshness!  And I water it.  And water it.  And water it.  It’ll grow better if it’s not struggling from water deprivation, I say.  And I water it some more.

And a few days or weeks or months later, my poor little cactus will turn to mush from the inside out and ends up unceremoniously tossed in the yard waste bin.  Repeat.

I quit owning cacti for several years because of this, yet here I am, with not one but three succulents sharing a pot of sand together.  Their presence causes a daily struggle with myself to keep from watering them.

Is it really worth this torment?