Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: funny essays

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging My Life Choices




    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging My Life Choices


    We all know that plants bring life into a room, but have you ever considered they might be absorbing a little too much of yours? I’m starting to suspect my beloved Monstera Deliciosa, Geoffrey, isn’t just a passive observer of my daily chaos. No, Geoffrey, I’m convinced, is judging me.

    The Time Geoffrey Almost Staged a Plant Rebellion

    It all started innocently. I’d brought Geoffrey home to brighten up my apartment, picturing Instagram-worthy moments of domestic bliss. For a while, things were great. Geoffrey thrived, unfurling new leaves with the exuberance of a puppy chasing butterflies. I, on the other hand, was thriving slightly less. Work was a monster (no pun intended), my dating life was a barren wasteland, and I’d perfected the art of surviving on takeout and dry cereal.

    Then, it happened. I woke up one morning to find Geoffrey wilting dramatically, his leaves drooping like a teenager forced to endure a family reunion. I panicked. Had I forgotten to water him? Was he getting enough light? Was this the plant equivalent of a hunger strike?

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me



    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a cheesy reality show, a half-eaten bag of chips precariously balanced on your stomach. You glance up, and there it is: the judgment. From your houseplant.

    Is My Houseplant Giving Me the Side-Eye?

    It started subtly. I’d be rushing out the door, late for work, and catch a glimpse of my peace lily, Steve. (Don’t judge, I’m a firm believer in plants having dignified names.) It felt like he was… following me with his leaves.

    like he was disappointed.

    “Another takeout container in the recycling?” Steve seemed to sigh. “You know, composting is really not that hard.”

    Okay, maybe I was projecting. But the guilt was real.

    My Houseplant Judged My DIY Skills – I Swear!

    One particularly harried evening, I was attempting to assemble furniture using only a butter knife and sheer willpower (it was doomed from the start). I may have uttered a few choice words that would make a sailor blush. That’s when I saw it.

    Steve’s leaves did a full-body shudder.

  • The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry




    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    We all have those mundane tasks that make up the rhythm of our lives. For some, it’s washing dishes. For others, it’s mowing the lawn. For me, it’s laundry. Yes, that weekly (or, let’s be honest, bi-weekly) grapple with Mount Washmore sends my mind down some truly bizarre rabbit holes.

    From Dirty Socks to the Meaning of Life

    Just the other day, I was staring into the abyss of my laundry basket, contemplating the sheer volume of clothing I wear in a week (spoiler alert: it’s a lot), when it hit me. What does it all mean? Like, here I am, meticulously sorting socks (because, yes, I’m that person), and for what? So I can wear them again and repeat the cycle? Is this the circle of life Simba was singing about?

    Sock Mystery: Where Do Missing Socks Go?

    We’ve all been there. You put two socks in the washer, but somehow, only one emerges from the dryer. It’s like the Bermuda Triangle, but for socks. Where do they go? Do they have tiny sock passports and decide to elope? Are there sock monsters living in my dryer vents? The world may never know.

    The truly frustrating part is that the remaining sock, now a lonely bachelor, is basically useless. I mean, what am I going to do with a single sock? Wear it on my hand like a sock puppet? Start a sock-puppet theater dedicated to solving the mystery of its missing mate? The possibilities are endless, yet strangely unappealing.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices



    We all have our quirks. Some of us talk to our pets (don’t judge!), others burst into song at the most inopportune times. Me? I swear my houseplant is judging me.

    The Side-Eye From a Spider Plant: A Plant Parent’s Journey

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a plant parent. I envisioned a lush oasis, a testament to my nurturing abilities. What I got was Horace the Spider Plant, a creature of apparent habit and, dare I say, opinions.

    Horace took to his new home quickly enough, sprouting new growth with gusto. But then, a shift. I was having a particularly rough week – deadlines looming, love life nonexistent, questionable pizza choices – and I noticed Horace seemed…droopy. Not just regular “I need water” droopy, but a full-on “I am deeply disappointed in the life choices you’ve made” droop.

    At first, I laughed it off. Plants can’t judge…right?

    The Curious Case of the Coincidental Wilt: A Pattern Emerges

    But then the coincidences (or were they?) began. A disastrous online date? Horace’s leaves practically curled in on themselves. A particularly triumphant work presentation? The plant practically did a victory dance, new growth unfurling like confetti.

    My friends, initially amused, now fuel the fire.

    • “Did you water Horace with your tears after that text from Dave?”
    • “Wow, Horace is THRIVING. You must have finally folded that laundry pile.”

    I mean, they’re not wrong. The evidence is compelling.

    My Houseplant Stages an Intervention: The Final Straw

    The peak (or should I say, the wilting point) came during a particularly epic procrastination session. I was supposed to be finishing an important project, but instead, I found myself four hours deep into a reality TV marathon, fueled by leftover birthday cake.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (I Think So.)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (I Think So.)





    We’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you’re scarfing down leftover takeout at 2 AM in your pajamas and you glance up at your perfectly poised houseplant, bathed in the glow of the refrigerator light, and swear you see a look of judgment in its…leaves? Okay, maybe it’s just me. But hear me out!

    When My Fiddle Leaf Fig Sided With My Cat

    It all started with Ferdinand, my majestic fiddle leaf fig. He’s the kind of plant that just exudes an air of quiet sophistication, you know? Always perfectly positioned in the sunlight, leaves gleaming like emerald dinner plates. One day, I was having a particularly stressful day – deadlines looming, laundry piling up, the whole nine yards. I may have unleashed a string of curse words at the microwave when my leftovers refused to heat evenly. Suddenly, I noticed Ferdinand’s leaves seemed to droop ever so slightly. At the same time, my cat, Mr. Jinx (who, let’s be honest, lives a life of pure luxury compared to my own), sauntered over to Ferdinand and rubbed against his pot with a smug look on his furry little face. Was it my imagination, or did Ferdinand lean in for a head scratch? I swear, they were both judging me.

    Judging My Watering Schedule?

    Then there’s my succulent collection. Now, succulents are supposed to be low-maintenance, right? The “chill” plants, content with minimal water and sunlight. Well, mine seem to have missed the memo. I swear, every time I forget to water them for a few days (okay, maybe a week…or two), they shrink just a little bit more. It’s like they’re saying, “Seriously? Again? We’re trying to thrive here, but you’re making it really hard with your inconsistent watering schedule.” And the worst part? They’re right. I am a hot mess when it comes to remembering to water my plants. But do they have to be so passive-aggressive about it?

    Peace Lily and the Monday Blues: A Conspiracy?

    But the final straw? It has to do with my peace lily. Now, peace lilies are supposed to be dramatic, right? They wilt dramatically when they need water, then perk right back up after a good drink. Well, mine has taken it to a whole new level. It’s like clockwork: Every Monday morning, just as I’m scrambling to get ready for work, I notice my peace lily has staged a dramatic fainting spell. Leaves drooping, the whole shebang. And every time, without fail, I end up being late for work because I’m too busy reviving my melodramatic plant. Coincidence? I think not. I’m convinced my peace lily is in cahoots with the Monday blues.

    Help! Are My Plants Judging Me?

    Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe it’s just the stress of being a millennial trying to adult in this crazy world. Or maybe, just maybe, my plants really are judging my life choices. What do you think? Am I alone in this, or have you ever caught your houseplants throwing some serious side-eye?


  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    We’ve all been there. You know, staring forlornly into the fridge at 2 a.m., wondering where it all went wrong. But lately, I’ve started to feel a distinct judgment radiating from a different corner of my apartment. It’s not my roommate, nor is it the stack of unread books on my nightstand (though, they probably have opinions too). No, the judgmental stare I’m talking about comes from none other than… my houseplant, Ferdinand.

    The Day Ferdinand Raised an Eyebrow (Figuratively, of Course)

    It all started innocently enough. I was repotting Ferdinand, a majestic ZZ plant I might add, when I accidentally ripped one of his healthy, green stems. Mortified, I apologized profusely, like the crazy plant lady I’m slowly becoming. But as I looked at Ferdinand, I swear I saw a flicker of something in his… leaves? Was that… judgment?

    Since then, I can’t shake the feeling that Ferdinand is silently critiquing my every move. Left the dishes piled up again? Ferdinand seems to droop a little lower. Scrolling aimlessly through social media instead of pursuing my dreams? I swear I hear a rustle of disapproval from his corner.

    Exhibit A: The Great ZZ Plant Watering Debacle

    Ferdinand, like most ZZ plants, enjoys a good, thorough watering – but only when the soil is dry. Me? I’m more of a “Whoops, forgot to water you for two weeks, let me drown you in compensation” kind of plant parent.

    One particularly egregious overwatering incident led to Ferdinand’s leaves turning an alarming shade of yellow. As I frantically googled “How to save overwatered plant,” I could practically feel Ferdinand’s judgmental gaze burning into my soul. He seemed to be saying, “Seriously, Susan? It’s literally one job.”

    Can a Houseplant Inspire Us to Grow?

    Here’s the thing about plants: they thrive when you give them consistent care and attention. My writing, much like Ferdinand, also thrives when I nurture it. But life, as it tends to do, gets in the way. Deadlines, errands, that new season of [insert your latest binge-worthy show] – all conspire to steal my time and focus.

    One evening, after a particularly unproductive day spent scrolling through social media, I glanced at Ferdinand. He stood tall and proud, a testament to the power of consistent growth. And in that moment, I realized something profound: Ferdinand wasn’t judging me, he was inspiring me. He was a silent reminder that even small, consistent actions can lead to incredible results.

    So, Is My Plant Judging Me?

    Maybe, maybe not. But honestly, does it even matter? He’s a plant, after all. But his silent presence has made me more aware of my own habits – the good, the bad, and the downright neglectful. And if a little bit of plant-based judgment helps me become a better plant parent and a better human, then I’ll take it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a certain ZZ plant to go water… correctly this time.

    Do you think your houseplants are judging you too? Share your hilarious plant parenting stories in the comments below!

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Weird Habits I’ve Developed)

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Weird Habits I’ve Developed)

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Weird Habits I’ve Developed)

    From Plant Killer to Paranoid Plant Parent

    Remember that time I accidentally killed a cactus? Yeah, I know, rookie mistake. You’d think succulents were hard to kill, but somehow I managed it. Fast forward to today, and I’m now the proud (and slightly neurotic) parent of fifteen thriving houseplants. And let me tell you, the transformation has been…weird.

    It all started subtly. I’d find myself talking to my peace lily, Phil. Just casual things, like, “Morning, Phil, looking perky today!” or “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll water you soon.” Harmless, right? But then things escalated…

    The Side-Eye from Fernie: My Houseplant’s Silent Judgment

    It’s Fernie, my majestic Boston fern, who I suspect is the mastermind behind my descent into plant-induced madness. He sits there on his pedestal (okay, it’s a plant stand, but still), fronds cascading down like a green waterfall, and I swear he watches my every move.

    Like, the other day, I was stress-eating leftover pizza at 2 AM. As I shamelessly shoved the last cold slice into my mouth, I caught Fernie’s reflection in the window. And you know what? I swear he rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was just the breeze, but the judgment was palpable.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye



    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Swooned (In Disgust?)

    We’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you’re scarfing down leftover pizza in your pajamas at 2 PM on a Tuesday, and you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. It’s just sitting there, silently soaking up the sun… or is it judging your questionable life choices?

    I swear, my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, fainted dead away last week when I accidentally watered him with the remnants of my cold brew (don’t judge me, it was a Monday!). One minute he was standing tall and proud, the next he was dramatically drooping like he’d just witnessed a crime against nature.

    Which, let’s be honest, he kind of did. But still! Ferdinand’s dramatic reaction got me thinking… are our houseplants secretly judging us?

  • The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Doing Laundry

    We all have those mundane tasks that, for some reason, turn our brains into philosophical whirlwinds. For me, it’s laundry. I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But something about the rhythmic whirring of the washing machine, the endless sorting of socks, and the existential dread of discovering another rogue red sock amongst a sea of whites, just sends my mind on a tangent.

    The Great Sock Mystery

    Seriously, where do they go? It’s like there’s a tiny black hole in my dryer specifically designed to devour socks, leaving behind only their lonely counterparts. Do they achieve sock nirvana? Are they living their best lives in a sock-only dimension? I need answers.

    laundry, it’s like I’m playing a high-stakes game of sock memory. I find myself staring intensely at two seemingly identical white socks, trying to decipher subtle differences in texture or shade that would justify pairing them. The pressure is real, people.

    The Life Cycle of a T-Shirt

    Folding a freshly laundered t-shirt is an unexpectedly introspective experience. I find myself tracing the lines of wear and tear, each faded stain a silent testament to a memory. That spaghetti sauce splatter? A reminder of a delicious (and messy) first date. The grass stain on the knee? A testament to a particularly epic game of tag with my niece.

    Each garment holds a story, a tiny thread in the tapestry of my life. And as I carefully fold it and place it in the drawer, I can’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude for the journey we’ve shared.

    Finding Zen in the Laundry Routine

    Hear me out on this one. While laundry can feel like a never-ending chore, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction that comes with it. The act of taking something dirty and transforming it into something clean and fresh is oddly therapeutic.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me




    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me


    The Mystery of the Droopy Leaves

    We’ve all been there. You’re having a particularly rough day, the kind where you spill coffee on your favorite shirt and trip up the stairs, only to be greeted by a chorus of wilted leaves from your usually perky peace lily. It’s like it knew.

    At first, I brushed it off. “It’s just a plant,” I told myself, misting its dramatically drooping foliage. But as the weeks went by, I started noticing a pattern. A pattern that, dare I say, suggested a level of silent judgment that would put even the most disapproving aunt to shame.

    Plant Knows When I’m Stressed (and Judges Me Accordingly)

    Take last Tuesday, for instance. I was having a heated phone conversation with my internet provider (let’s just say patience isn’t their strong suit). As my frustration mounted, I paced around my living room, gesturing wildly with the phone cord (yes, I still have a landline, don’t judge!).

    Mid-rant, I caught a glimpse of my previously chipper spider plant. Its leaves, which were happily reaching towards the ceiling just moments before, were now engaged in a dramatic downward spiral. It was as if the plant itself had sighed and muttered, “Here we go again…”

    Coincidence? I think not.

    The Watering Can Stare-Down: A Plant’s Guilt Trip

    Then there’s the whole watering situation. You know that look your dog gives you when you’re about to indulge in a particularly delicious-smelling snack? The one that’s a mix of longing, hope, and just a hint of accusation?

    My plant has perfected that look.

    Every time I approach with the watering can, it seems to straighten up a bit, leaves perking up ever so slightly. But if I dare wait a day or two past its preferred watering schedule? Forget about it. I’m subjected to a full-on botanical guilt trip, complete with dramatic leaf drooping and, I swear, an audible sigh (or maybe that’s just the wind whistling through the drafty windowsill?).