My moving-into-the-second half-of-winter ebullience is being tempered slightly by being underwater, and I don’t mean my mortgage. A weather system of 100,000% humidity has moved into the region that could be rain, or it could be fog, or it could be wading, it’s just very hard to tell. But it’s wet and it’s dark.
I wrote a few days ago about how we should explore the bottom of the ocean more, but I spoke too soon. You need a lantern to find your way up and down the street here lately, and it needs to be attached to a submarine. The Smithsonian Castle has fish swimming in and out the windows and a pirate chest out front that releases bubbles from time to time, though that might actually be the Federal Treasury..
All the water in the air creates an eerie kind of sound-suppression, except for the hissing of tires on the wet pavement and the incessant pinging of Navy sonar. I didn’t have to go to the pool today to get my swim in. Or my shower. My hair hangs down in front of my eyes in dripping strings, so no difference there, but my shoes are an orchestra of squoogie squashles. Attempting to speak risks water inhalation and drowning. People are communicating with hand signals, mostly thumbs pointing upward to an imagined surface to which we could swim and look for a boat, were it not for the meeting-room ceiling above our heads. But a wordless meeting counts as a plus. I think all the water is affecting my sense of reality, and you can be the judge of that.