I rescued a plant from the garbage collector some weeks ago. It talks to me, though I am not sure that you care. It tells me when it is depressed; it drags its leaves near the floor - and there are a great number of them great in size - when it wants some fluid for drinking. It lifts its palms toward the afternoon sun, and its high spirits become evident when it has enough. Its skin sags a bit when there is not enough fluid for prospering, and its many stalks and thick, broad, dark-green leaves beg for a larger pot in which to stretch its roots.
I cannot help but wonder how much a larger pot costs. There is a friend in need.