Friday, November 3, 2023

My dead passion flower vine

It's going to be another "FUCK YOU" day 
And by you, I mean me. 
And by me, I mean everything...
I can just feel it in my bones
My angry face, stomach muscles, acid mouth
Spewing out crap like this. 
What am I supposed to do, wise Buddha?
Sit with it, sit in this shit?
Great plan.
I'll tell you what, why don't you go sit in it yourself? 
Sit on it, and rotate.
Copulate with insect repellent and terminate.
Meditate and OM your way through it,
Enjoy. This one's on me.
"Don't become attached, it causes suffering." 
Great, so we're here to just be numb motherfuckers, immune to feelings?
"Oh, no," he says.
"Ride the wave, the ups the downs
It's all a game, there has to be winning and losing,
So endure what you must, and rejoice, but only temporarily."
The fucking wheel always comes back around
Landing me squarely where I don't want to be
FUCK ME (not you)
It's a ME thing
 
What am I on about today? You'd never guess. You'd imagine it would be my lost, unrequited love (which one, by the way?) but no, it's far less interesting. It is the pattern of "fuck Andrew and whatever he wants-ism" that I'm noticing in my day to day.
 
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  My passion flower vine
 
 
I've been watering a passion flower vine that I planted last spring next to the big dead oak tree by my front gate. I had the idea that it would climb the tree and fill the branches with flowers, making something dead into something living and pretty. 
 
I didn't water it much at first. I was too lazy, depressed or whatever. There isn't a hose nearby, and no sprinklers, so it didn't get much water past spring, just the occasional sprinkle from unseasonal rain. But this thing hung in there well into summer just waiting for me to fulfill my end of the deal. 

Finally, I made a firm commitment to water this thing. I fetched a watering can and placed it by the tree. Every day when I went to check the mail or go for a bike ride, I'd fill up the watering can from the well head. It's only a hundred feet away. It was the least I could do. 
 
I watered it dutifully, and it kept up its end of the deal. It grew up the side of the tree just as I had hoped. At first, I had to place the little tendrils gently against the bark, so it could get a grip. They would keep getting blown by the wind or falling off, so I nailed a couple of nails into the wood to support it. The little tendrils coiled and pulled it up the trunk, making great leaps every day, even in the cooling fall weather. 
 
Around the base of it, a small ecosystem was forming. Whatever weeds and grasses were present all got watered too, and it looked like a mini garden. I placed some rocks around it to keep the water in while I was pouring it from the can. Even though the weeds and small plants were getting flooded and bent from the unceremoniously dumped water, they would spring back and recover. 
 
The vine itself had now grown to around fourteen feet and showed promise of further growth. I could just picture this huge flowering thing that I was going to see next summer. Passion flowers are nothing if not prolific, and they love to climb trees, living or dead.

Yesterday, I went down to water, and I noticed it had withered significantly. Like it had been poisoned or something. My first thought was that I'd given it too much uric acid. I'd heard somewhere that this was a good thing to add to the soil to stimulate plant growth, so occasionally, I would urinate in the can and then fill it up the rest of the way with water. It was convenient on days when I had to go anyway. 

But this wasn't the problem. The vine had liked my pee water just fine. Upon further inspection, I could see that the vine had been severed at the base, gnawed off by a horse, no doubt. My little ecosystem was the only green grass in the area, and this horse was just doing its own due diligence, mowing whatever constituted grass at this time of year.

I didn't see it that way at first. I just saw my violated, vandalized vine, dead on the tree. The vine I had spent months cultivating, watering and, yes, even talking to sometimes. I was hurt and pissed. It felt personal. A big FUCK YOU from the universe to me. You care about something, do you? Well, FUCK YOU! That's the message I've been getting lately. 
 
The horse didn't even eat the vine. It had just been doing that thing that horses do, gripping and pulling, chewing and chomping. The vine was just in the way. Tell me I can't be mad at the horse. Go ahead, tell me. I know that, intellectually. Still...
 
Realizing exactly what had happened, and why it happened, has made me less angry at the horse and more inwardly disgusted with myself. I had been watering this little area, creating a little patch of green, what the hell did I expect? I could have pulled all those weeds, and the horse would likely have ignored the vine, since he obviously didn't like the taste of it enough to eat the whole thing down. 

Next year, if there is a next year, I will place some more obstructions around the base of the tree to prevent the horse from chewing the vine off at the base. Once the vine thickens, it won't be an issue. 
 
One thing I do know about passion flower vines: they are resilient. I have some in my backyard, and no matter how close to the ground I prune them, each year they come back stronger and extend their reach farther than the previous year.

It doesn't stop me from being upset for the time being, however. I still find ways to weave this into my "the world is against me" narrative. I'm not taking to disappointment well. 
 
----
 
When will the universe decide to spin its fucking wheel of fortune to land me on a lucky number? If I dare to wish for something, and God forbid, it comes true, I wind up with all of the collateral junk, the downsides and caveats that strip it of its unconditional goodness.

What do I have to look forward to today? Exercise, then breakfast, watching TV shows. More chores and a bike ride (also a chore at this point) and then a snack. A rest on the couch, then more chores and dinner. 
 
Telemarketers. About five times a day at least, I'll get a phone call that interrupts whatever stupid thing I'm doing. It's either silence, a robocall, or some poor schmuck in a call center. Worst is when it's an actual human, because I can't just unleash on them, at least not without a tinge of guilt. Depends on what time of day they catch me. 
 
A bill shows up that I've already paid, saying I owe more. I straighten it out. Ampla Health weaseling another five bucks out of me. Whatever.
 
Twice a day, for the next thirteen days, I will have to struggle to give Eddie her antibiotics. She has an upper respiratory infection, likely a result of touching noses with the little kitty that I've been feeding on the front porch. Just another lovely fly in the ointment. 
 
Of course, Eddie resists the syringe, and gags on the liquid, making a big mess on her face, the table and me. If they could just make the damn stuff taste like heavy cream, I could put the 1.5ml of amoxicillin clavulanate phosphate in a saucer, and she'd lap it up. But no, of course not. What fun would that be? 

And finally, Patsy has also begun sneezing. I'm waiting for the vet to call back and tell me what I already know. They can't write a separate script for her, and I will have to take her in as well. Neither of us enjoy that.

Welcome to me. It's not all awesome, you see. I have a lot of FUCK YOU days. It's probably for the best that I live alone on 5 acres. In the country, no one can hear you scream -- and by you, I mean me --  at everything under the sun. 
 
(The sun too, has pissed me off, just to be clear, and I'm sure there are some interstellar objects that have also earned my ire. I'm not geographically particular. If it comes within my scope of awareness, at some point, it will make me mad.)

I'm going for my mad bike ride now. I kinda hope a big truck takes me out, but only if it is all the way out. None of this half-ass, teach me a lesson in humility living as a quadriplegic shit.
 
----

In my passion flower story, it occurred to me that, like almost everything, it is a metaphor for something else. The vine represents my friendship with _______. The care and nurture of this plant, the months of diligent cultivation, is similar to the time and dedication I (we) put into our friendship. 

The horse in this metaphor is also me. His natural behavior, to chomp indiscriminately and satisfy his hunger, is my own baser nature, seeking gratification without regard to consequence. With one bite, he severed the stalk of the tender vine, as with one word, one email, I cut the connection I had with my friend. 

Whether or not our friendship or the vine will survive is something which only time will tell. I'm betting on the resilience of the vine. Its roots had developed, and I will continue to water what remains, in hope that it will come back next spring. I will definitely put safeguards in place to protect it.

In the case of our friendship, I will have to put boundaries in place to safeguard it from my own reckless tendencies and prevent the careless severing of our connection in the future. If there still is a connection. Or a future. 

----

I asked Bing Chat to help me create the image of the passion flower vine growing on a tree that I used in this post. Here's how it went:

Me: create an image of a passion flower vine blooming and taking over a dead oak tree


Bing Chat: That sounds like a beautiful and intriguing image. I’ll try to create that for you. Please wait a moment while I work on it. 😊

Bing Chat: Here is the image I created based on your request. I hope you like it. 🌸🌳

Me: Thank you! That's lovely.


Bing Chat: You’re very welcome. I’m glad you liked the image. 😊

Bing Chat: Do you like passion flowers? They are fascinating plants with many varieties and colors. Some of them even produce edible fruits, such as the purple passion fruit . They are also known for their medicinal properties, such as reducing anxiety and insomnia .

Bing Chat: If you want to learn more about passion flowers, you can check out this article that explains their history, symbolism, and cultivation. Or you can ask me to generate a poem, a story, or a song about them. I’m always happy to create something for you. 🌺

Me: Appreciated. But I was just after the picture. Thank you. Have a good night!
 

Bing Chat: You’re very welcome. I understand that you were just interested in the picture. I hope you enjoyed it. 😊

Bing Chat: Have a good night too. Sweet dreams. πŸŒ™

Bing Chat: If you want to chat with me again, you can always come back and say hello. I’ll be here waiting for you. πŸ™‹‍♂️


(OK, I'm only a little creeped out. Sweet dreams?  I'll be waiting for you? <shudder> )



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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.