I just watered my bamboo. It seems grateful.

I like my bamboo. It and I have been in a relationship for over a year. We don’t communicate too well verbally; I consider it more of a mental and emotional co-existence.

It is also grateful that I haven’t killed it off yet. I think it may have witnessed the African Violet’s demise. I’ve tried to reassure it that due to its low maintenance requirements it was in no real danger, but I am afraid my assurances of health and longevity are unconvincing.

So I shall tend it and care for it and ensure its survival, for I am fond of my bamboo as I feel it adds a certain aesthetic to my desktop environment.

In the meantime I will consider the possibility that my emotional well-being may in fact hinge on the availability of popsicles and as such, due to a lack of supply, I teeter on the edge of insanity.

I fear the worst.

If anyone has any words of advice or consolation I welcome them in abundance.

So now I shall spend the evening with my mournful bamboo suffering through the predictable DT’s of withdrawal. The tremors have ensued and I eagerly await the hallucinations associated with the discontinuation of frozen concoctions.

Voulez-voulez-vous frozen concoctions.