The swampy pit is now a veritable lake. The Earth's crust breached, giant rocks adorn the edges of the water. The only sign of life is the neon yellow vests operating CAT and surveying the work with poised grunt. Not a snapper to be seen. A golden mess of straw lines the muddy edge. I had almost forgotten what that lighting could look like what with our onslaught of gloomy days. The neon vests are almost done covering up their mess. My entertainment will come to an end. I suppose there is always the news... If I want a more dismal source of occupation. Would you rather be a snapping turtle with your mucky home unstuck? Or would you rather be governed by the squalid few who ignore their people gone amok?
Chief Mate's (left), Co-Captain Dad's (center), Captain Mom's (right) The world needs color. We can't get by without it. Maybe some individuals can, but as a human race, certainly not. I was dipping down into the land of the low, and it was color that brought me back. It's funny how the new norm now has its own new routine. The days still oscillate between wondrous, mundane, and sheer torture. At least the mundane days are growing in number and the space between wondrous and torture continues to get farther apart. Overall, things do seem to be getting more and more manageable. The highs are incredible. Hiking with Chief Mate and Co-Captain Dad. Grilling with Admiral Grandma and Uncle Commodore. Finding time, if even for five minutes, to read a book of my choosing amidst the hundreds of assigned pages. Grad School Black Hole still looms large, but those five minutes of mine are everything. I've been riding the wave, trying not to complain when suddenly a...
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