My mother gave Stephanie a plant for Mother's Day. A hibiscus with lovely yellow blossoms. It came in the usual plastic pot and needed to be planted along the fence, an operation requiring a spade, some soil, water, and a few minutes of my time.
It languished on our patio in the plastic pot almost a month. The wind kept knocking it over so by today only half the soil remained and the plant looked sad, a little desperate. I may be anthropomorphizing here, but go with it.
I hadn't planted the thing because, though logic clearly showed it would be the easiest of tasks, it always seemed like something I didn't want to do right then. I would get to it later.
Later and later it turns out.
Tonight, I came to sit on the patio and the plant was tipped over again. More soil had spilled out. Its lone blossom looked like Sally Struthers begging me to help feed needy children. Alright, I told it. I'll plant you.
It took twelve minutes from decision to putting the tools away.
Last week I had trouble writing anything worth posting. I had ideas but no faith in them or myself and left each one unfinished.
Nike says, just do it, but Nike cripples thousands and thousands of runners and bilks people for the right to wear the swoosh, so screw them.
I just need to do something. Almost anything. Though you already knew this, I had forgotten it. Write something. Plant something in the ground or type it on the screen and see what grows. Just do something.