Am I secretly purposefully neglecting to change the water and trip the stems of the extravagant lily's oliver bought me? Would I be more drawn to encouraging and supporting these incredible budding jewels if I was less hessitant (guilty? resentful? sad?) over the complexity of the baggage they seem to imply? Are they an imposition, albeit pleasant, in much the same way their giver perhaps, maybe, sorta... I can't bear finishing these thoughts.