Aching roots
Oh my aching roots! I am sick; my flower buds have wilted into little brown nubbins. My leaves have a fringe of brown that gets wider every day. The edges are curled and brittle almost like dried out leaves yet I have plenty of tea to drink. On Earth my leaves would be drooping but here in weightlessness they stay extended and from a distance they do not look sick. Perhaps my symptoms, thus masked, were not observed by Gardener like they would have been if we were on Earth. Gardener is beside himself and is working hard to find a solution. This is not good; I feel in my roots that I may soon be going to the Great Compost in the ground.