Something’s making want to grow things, to propogate them. (Very likely it’s the Vernal Equinox, otherwise known as the first day of spring, which was yesterday.) It started at the office, rescuing those plants. Now I’ve done it at the apartment building.
A terrribly neglected shefflera in the lobby kept catching my eye as it drooped from lack of water, then certain parts just started dying. But I resisted, because a plant of the same species is involved with some past unpleasant memories. Then I got over that and took my pruning shears downstairs to see what I could do. The bits I could rescue are now in a mayonnaise jar on my south-facing window sill.
I take this urge to grow things as a very good sign. It’s what I did in my 20s and feels very natural.