As we now get closer to the two-month mark, I wish I could say things are stabilizing. We remain as lost and detached as ever. Floating in a void that is this new planet with all emotions living on the edges of our sleeves. Fraying and escalating at the slightest prompt. Simple commands like, "Eat your peas," cause an eruption like never before. News such as, "High winds and possible power outages," leaves me limp. I pull the blanket tighter and refuse to get out of bed until there are only minutes left before I need to make myself presentable to the Zoom world. These logs are starting to loop and repeat as do the days. Monotony is the new rhythmic norm.
Chief Mate shakes me from my spiral.
"Let's go outside!"
I don't hesitate.
Not for a second.
Chalk in hand, we draft tags.
Keep calm and chalk on.
The water people have unearthed all sorts of things. Mucky slabs of asphalt and black clay form a new alien planet that once was our pit. I have yet to see the snappers, but I imagine that the CAT will gently relocate any critters. Not sure if this helps me sleep at night, or proves me naive. Mist has coated everything in cold droplets. It's a stew and tea sort of day. I've started a new regimen to keep my aging muscles and bone from turning to brittle. Chief Mate walks in on me squatting on Facetime with a friend. "Want to join us?" He freezes, eyebrows raised, and walks slowly backward out of the room. It's an answer of sorts. Today my muscles feel used and important. The CAT has come to rest and so will I, tea in hand, to watch the squirrels scurry in the cold drizzle.
Scraggly Hairless Tail lumbers across the straw. Nose rooting for rodents, mud on paw. 'Tis a shame to see symbolic tail reduced to twiggy rope. Parasite or accident perhaps? Down down the slope. With morsel, I hope.
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?