Chemical reactions

Chemistry class was not a good time for me. Toni can attest to this. It was during my sophomore year of high school when I was medically compromised and unexplainably (and uncorrectably) legally blind. I didn't learn a lot because I existed in a frazzled state of just-trying-to-make-it-through. What I do remember, though is that chemistry is pretty darn exact. You've gotta measure perfectly or else it won't work, you might actually create something entirely different than what you had tried. And in chemistry class, they wrote off that unanticipated creation as a mistake. And I'm not okay with that.

I'm imperfect.

While I've done a good job making mistakes and looking like a slob in the last few years, I've also spent a lot of time claiming I'm "fine" and looking like one of those women who is so perfectly put together there can't possibly be anything challenging in her life. I'm pretty stellar at looking perfect and acting perfect and getting perfect grades and whatever else goes into the formula of life. More and more, however, I'm experiencing the strain this brings me and so... 

Dressed in spandex shorts and a tank top with partially dried hair, coffee, water, and an apple in hand, I not-so-gracefully hustle to my car because I'm already running late even though I swore this would not happen today. 

This is how I feel about it. 

And simultaneously I'm loving it.

On my list of imperfections is a bit of forgetfulness that leads to difficulty keeping things alive. Annie and I bought a basil plant seed from Target 2 years ago for $1 and christened it our love fern. Annie took care of it--even when she left me alone with it, she would leave multiple notes reminding me to water it. When we were both away from the apartment, we would have someone basil-sit. In my head, it was symbolic. Annie moved, she entrusted me with its care. 

Mr. Basil survived the summer with me in St. Louis, traveled with me to Michigan for 3 weeks before venturing to Boston and has since sat atop my windowsill. And there he sat...and struggled. Our dear love fern missed Annie just as much as I did--our love was not nearly as rich when spread over 320 miles, instead of a few feet between our bedrooms.

Today, I decided Mr. Basil needed some support. I decided he needed some relations of his own to help him bear fruit. I purchased a healthy basil plant and added it to my withering love fern. 

Now there is so much love reacting in my bedroom, it's unbelievable...love sorta smells like Basil. 

Anyway, Annie, this is my very public way of acknowledging that Mr. Basil needed help and I was a good mother and offered him assistance. Sure, he needed help because I'm imperfect and struggle with the 'just add water' directions, but it wasn't a mistake, just an unanticipated new relationship.