So one of the big things I was supposed to do for my parents -- actually the biggest thing I could do for them -- while they were gone was water the garden in the backyard. One hour, Mother said -- two if you could on the weekends. I nodded in agreement, knowing deep in my heart there is no fucking way I would waste my time doing that shit.
And I didn't. Never once did I get even close to sixty minutes. I started out doing more than a half-hour before thinking this is just way too much fucking water for the plants to absorb. Over the two weeks my folks were gone I tapered it off, to 30, then less than 30, then 15 minutes.
Then, in the days before my parents were coming back, I decided I couldn't do it any more. There was some rain the middle of last week, but I really didn't think it was enough for me not to water, but it was my excuse. I have another excuse: I was just too fucking busy. It actually started the first weekend they were on their cruise because of that extra shoot where I came in at 7 Saturday evening and couldn't go home until 9:45 the following fucking morning. I was able to water somewhat, but I was too wiped out to even do half an hour, let alone an hour. But in the middle of last week I was preparing for an alumni club fundraiser, and I just got too goddamn busy to do it before night fell. OK, I'll admit I did stay out and go to stripclubs and shit. And I guess I could have watered at night. But I didn't. I really didn't water after Saturday afternoon. I just didn't have the energy or the time. And no, I didn't give a shit.
My parents came back Monday night, so they couldn't see the consequences on their garden until Tuesday morning. And I came back last night because after work yesterday (as well as today and tomorrow; I'm writing from a hotel right now) I'm participating in a taste test. My Fucking Father, as usual, was tactless in saying that all the plants had died. "What-what-what?!" I said in umbrage, walking out into the wet backyard in my slippers to see Mother trying to salvage all the other plants by drowning them. After a minute of staring out, acting as if I had no idea what the fuck happened because I told them I watered them for an hour every (well, most every) fucking day, I went in for dinner.
I don't give a shit. I. Just. Don't. Give. A. Shit. I get up to work at 7, I have shit to do after I get done with work at 3:30, I get home to look at my computer for an hour, then I have to eat, and then I have a choice of either going outside to water the garden or taking a nap. And because I'm so fucking tired, I went 50/50. And that was on days I was home at night. Several days I had stuff to do (OK, I wanted to go out) and I didn't make it home at all. How the fuck could I take out an hour of my day to water the fucking plants?
But now ... I feel a certain guilt. There's nothing I can do, but we are talking about death here, death of living things, things that were at the mercy of my hose, and through fatigue or indifference, I didn't give it to them. Most of the plants that shriveled up, according to Mother, were the ones closest to the fence, the ones farthest away from me while I watered. Maybe I could have spent some more time on the hard-to-reach places.
I also feel guilty, kind of, for letting my parents down. They gave me a responsibility, and I couldn't fulfill it, unreasonable as it was. But a funny thing happened after I went in for dinner. I expected them to be mad. But they barely talked about the garden at all. Instead they were talking about dinner and bickering about stuff. Father told me about some mail they needed me to take care of; Mother wondered if I got the e-mail she sent me when they were in Montreal. And they kind of forget about what I failed to with the garden. It's as if it was no big deal. I'm happy they're not fixating on it, yet confused why they aren't.
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