I was feeding these babies a few minutes ago. I was getting a little worried because it seems that they are, once again, dying on me. My anxiety caused a little accident. I gave them twice the usual volume of water. Water overflowed and soon enough, neighbors downstairs started screaming and yelling.
For apartment dwellers, the fire exit is a convenient make-shift clothes drying area --- or garden for people like me. The water for my babies dripped, giving an unexpected soil-rust flavored rain for the neighbor's clothes and curtains.
After a couple of minutes of screaming and complaining, the maintenance guy knocked at our door. He delivered the first official complaint against me. I apologized, several times. Said something about accidentally pouring a lot of water. Told him to extend my apologies to the warring neighbors. He said that I may want/need to transfer the plants at the rooftop. I said sorry and promised it won't happen again.
In my head, I told him to tell the neighbors to fuck off and stop acting like whining bastards. I know, I know, I was at fault. But I love my dying plants.
And love is blind.
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