youngraven: (Plants)
Sadly, I report that my English ivy is very likely dead. I've no idea what eventually brought it to its end. The soil is moist, yet the leaves are crispy, and many of them are now on the floor.

What do you do, eh?

I need a plant light.

This should say something of me: I'm already eyeing the pot for another plant. I've got a POTHOS!11!!11raaarrr! which has far outstripped its pot. It's been complaining about the close quarters for quite a while now. It'll fill the ivy's pot well, and its offspring (I inadvertently broke off a vine, and I've since rooted it) will be moved into its previous pot.

Such is life.
youngraven: (Plants)
Today, I chucked my plant's sad, dead stalk into the bin. Sadder still? Yesterday, I'd thought of a name for my plant's sad, dead stalk: Nollaig. Admittedly, it's not terribly inventive to call a poinsettia 'Christmas' in any tongue, but there you have it.

So now, upon my desk, is a pot of dirt. To add to the hilarity? This has all happened before.
youngraven: (Plants)
Quick - try to describe my poinsettia with a phrase that doesn't include 'dead'. You can't do it, can you? It's because 'dead' is too apt a description. Dead. Carked it. Off its date. Shoving up...well, perhaps not that. I mean, if the thing were to be shoving up daisies, I'd be delighted, as I'm rather keen on daisies.

I've no idea as to what at last did it in. I watered it, provided it a light source (and a dark source, as they prefer to have a night time)...ah well, eh. So now I've a sad wee stalk protruding sadly and weely from a pot of dirt, and I'm wondering...should I give the dirt to my other plant? You know, the one who's been nagging me for a new pot for...that long? Would that be a bit morbid, do you think? Should I consider this dirt somehow tainted?

It's a puzzlement.
youngraven: (bah)
Well, there's no denying it now, so I might as well come out and say it. My plant is dead. Sure, in all honesty, it's been dead for a fortnight at least, but there was the possibility of new leaves on one of the pathetic, dessicated stems. Now the leaf buds are dark and smaller than they were before.

This is an ex-plant.

In a rather sizeable pot of dirt.

Sometimes I think ah, you shouldn't plant anything new in soil in which another plant has died but then I remember that people plant flowers over graves all of the time - and there's surely something dead in a grave.

So I suppose if i go round the shops today, it'll be to buy myself a new plant. There is a DIY near to my office, surely somebody there will tell me which plant to buy (Me: It'll live in an office and never see the light of day. DIY: shouldn't own plants, miss, you're a hazard to them. Me: ...).

But I will have a plant, oh yes. I will. My other ones are flourishing, so it isn't as though I'm the death of anything with a leaf - only certain things with leaves.

And speaking of leaves, a certain somebody has got two new ones.
youngraven: (bah)
Three times out of six, the tea bag lobbed at the rubbish bin will miss and spatter against the wall above it before sliding down to the rug.

I honestly did almost type 'shliding'.

Four times out of six, a serviette to remove the aforementioned spatter from the wall is nowhere to be found.

I did not almost type 'shpatter'.

This was three times out of six, but fortunately not four times out of six. However, now I no longer possess a clean serviette, which will necessitate a pop round the canteen.

An orange on one's desk usually suggests that more than one serviette will be required.

My plant is dead. Well, near to it. It looks horrible - it's lost its last two healthy-looking leaves (which admittedly made it look a bit like a helicopter - but never mind that).

One of its two remaining stems has got three leaf buds on. I am reluctant to give up on it.

In other news, I've done with my valentines (well, I've done with designing, printing, cutting and folding them - they've still got to be signed and all). They're wicked. I showed one to a colleague and he says to me 'You're not right in the head'. It's true, and I'm not. I'll give some of them to my unwitting victims mates at Linda's soiree tonight, 'cos I can't wait till seisiun (which is actually on the 14th. Yes, that's how I plan to spend St V's - at seisiun, since Shaddow will be trapped at the office. It's a living, eh?). Shite, I should have the rest of them in the post by tomorrow. Sure that won't be happening. Ah well, they'll arrive when they do.

My plant is pitiful. I'd snap a photo and share it round, but I'm too embarrassed to do. Crotons aren't mad for water, and it would seem I've drownt the poor bastard. So, I'm 'letting it dry', but Plant Hospital's advice remains 'chuck it in the bin and buy yourself a new plant'. pout I'm fond of my plant.


youngraven: (Default)

April 2013

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