I can't stop looking at other people's gardens. Japanese courtyard gardens within modern architectural masterpieces. Wild, naturalistic gardens that blend into bucolic dreamscapes. Zero-waste urban gardens in the middle of gentrified neighbourhoods - the list goes on.
Like everyone else, I've been spending more time indoors, yet most of my downtime is spent ogling over photos of the great outdoors.
I've virtually visited Helen Dillon's seaside garden in Monkstown and wondered how she makes her dustbin planters look charming and rustic whereas my attempts look, well, a bit rubbish.
I've borderline stalked Diarmuid Gavin's Instagram and coveted his two-story wraparound veranda adorned with climbing roses. And don't even get me started on Jimi Blake's Huntingbrook Gardens - he's not a plantperson; he's an alchemist.
Over the last few weeks, I've developed an acute case of garden envy that's begun to dictate the trajectory of my evening walk. If you live between Dublin 2 and 6 and you've noticed a woman standing outside your home staring at your wisteria, or leaning over your garden railing for a long, greedy inhale of your clematis, I can confirm that it was probably me.
I'm lucky to have some of my own outdoor space by way of an apartment balcony. A lot of people don't have ready access to nature and it makes lockdown considerably more challenging for them.
And yet, despite this privilege, I can't help but imagine a garden with grass and mature trees, and the blank canvas of flower borders. I was perfectly content with my own little patch of astroturf before this pandemic, but now, I'm beginning to think of gardens - real gardens - as the ultimate aspiration.
And it's not just me. Lockdown has led to a worldwide gardening boom as we all try to make the most of our outdoor spaces. Seed suppliers are overwhelmed, online deliveries from garden centres are delayed and Aldi's new collection of garden furniture and fire pits are flying out the doors.
I visited a hardware shop-cum-garden centre over the weekend and there was a palpable sense of excitement in the queue that meandered around the car park. Truth be told, it was a little like the first day of the Brown Thomas Christmas sale, except the only conspicuous consumption here was two bags of contraband compost and four trays of antirrhinum.
It's hardly surprising that people are gardening their way through this crisis. Weeding, planting and watering cultivates purpose amidst uncertainty and a welcoming outdoor space makes an indoor space feel considerably less claustrophobic.
Then there's the intangible benefits. Gardening soothes the soul, calms anxiety and eases stress. And is there any better symbol of hope than planting a bulb and fully expecting it to blossom into something bright and beautiful a few months later?
Tending to the garden is a simple and wholesome pursuit. The trouble, however, is that there's always someone with a better garden than yours - and it's hard not to get caught up in comparisons in a world where gardens are the new 'good room'.
Home envy has given way to garden envy in recent weeks.
Gardens, in all their shapes and sizes, have become a lockdown status symbol of sorts and that, in turn, leads to a twinge of status anxiety when we see a billowing window box across the street or a drift of ornamental grasses in the pages of a magazine.
It also encourages some gentle one-upmanship. Like a freshly-baked banana bread, a well-kept garden signals to the world (and ourselves) that we are thriving rather than surviving during these troubled times.
Still, that doesn't quite explain why my garden envy is more pronounced than ever before, or where exactly it stems from.
You could argue that green fingers eventually lead to green eyes, but this feels like something else entirely. Do I envy people's tasteful planting schemes or do I envy their personal sanctuaries and easy connection with nature?
Would I be happy if I had wisteria climbing along my balcony railing or do I actually just want to feel my feet physically planted to the earth?
One thing is for sure: this isn't garden-variety envy. It's rooted much, much deeper.