fingernails
Dear Ciara,
My first zinnia flower bloomed today. A nine-petalled bloom the colour of yellow custard. My patience has paid off. The other buds nestled around it are also swollen, waiting for their chance to explode with colour. I’ve been chewing my nails with anticipation for them, or maybe that’s just anxiety? Either way, I hope some of the upcoming flowers are pink. I have a soft-spot for pink.
We had a conversation on Messenger earlier that I've been thinking about. We spoke about how we are both tied up in so many projects—things we are passionate about—yet falling into that notorious sinkhole of procrastination. The Organist always tells me that I am taking on too much at a time, but I’m addicted to filling my life with projects I’ll never finish.
The ones this week are varied: planning a work event, my Honours thesis, the novel I keep forgetting to write, Dear Ciara itself, the pile of books by the side of my bed, the music I’ve started recording, choir practice, organising my trip down south… What a whirlwind! Supposedly, we can only carry four/five things in our frontal cortex at a time. No wonder I feel so overloaded all the time.
But the garden helps. Sinking my fingers into the soil takes my mind away. I applied some more mulch and compost to the beds today, working it in with my fingers. The one benefit of chewing my nails down is that there is nowhere for the dirt to become trapped. Mum recently told me that my sister chews her nails too, mostly during times of stress. I wonder which parent we inherited that undesirable habit from. I also peel mine off in the shower, but that might be too much information.
Anyway, this letter is starting to lose form. I can feel my melodrama slipping through my fingers. Some of these projects I will finish. My anxiety and desire for success will team-up to push me until the very end. I just need to remind myself to take the time to relax too. To soak in that glorious sunlight, dig my fingers in the soil, go barefoot on the grass.
The song for today:
Hollywood— Darcie Haven
More Darcie Haven for you. Her music makes me feel strangely nostalgic for when we were in university together. I was always third-wheeling you and your boyfriend. Do you remember our study-nights at the city campus library? Those were good times. Sometimes, I wish I could go back. My youth seems so far away now.
Love,
The Gardener