I used to have so many plants. Nothing special—rubber plants, philodendron vines—but lots of them. And I took really good care of them. I trimmed the vines, propagated shoots in vases on the windowsill, and planted new baby plants. I even hand-painted flower pots for them.

For some reason, in the move to this house, my indoor green thumb got discolored. I love the garden in the back and take really good care of it in the summer. But our houseplants? Seriously, we barely water them. From a high of probably 10 plants, we now have maybe 5. I say maybe because it’s been so long since I watered the geranium that I’m not sure it’s going to make it.

I have nothing to say for myself. It’s just terrible. I guess I’m thinking that maybe by making a public confession I’ll embarrass myself into actually getting up, filling up a pitcher with water, and saving the lives of these poor, innocent plants.