I still don’t like indoor plants, exactly, but I have three of them now, and I’m ready to try to want them, at this stage in my life. There’s something very peaceful about how unsettled they make me, like I’m in the final stages of hypothermia. I get the sense that they’re always talking to me, just so slowly I can’t hear them. I suspect that they call me Mother – that irrespective of anyone’s sex, indoor plants hail everyone as Mother, because it’s a term that maximizes intimacy and creepiness faster than just about any other.
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