YES, I’M STILL at sea. Confinement in our cabin is wearing thin. But unfortunately, with ports closed and politicians opposed to us docking in Florida, the end isn’t in sight.
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be totally dependent on someone who you can’t see and have no contact with? Me neither. But now, I know.
Bottles of water show up at our door, the last one a full gallon. Bags of clean towels also appear. Every other day, the bag includes tissues and toilet paper: There’s no shortage at sea. I even received a little card asking me to check the drinks I’d like. For the heck of it, I checked brandy. The next day, there it was. But we still can’t leave the cabin.
Yesterday, I attempted humor. I asked my wife what she would like to do today. She suggested I take a walk.
I had heard of Pavlovian conditioning during my mediocre education, but never imagined being an active participant. Now, three times a day, when I hear the clang of trays in the hall, I salivate. Then the big moment arrives. Three knocks on the door. It’s feeding time. A tray of food lays at my feet, put there by invisible hands. I have newfound empathy for zoo inhabitants.
My walking is limited to a 24- by eight-foot space—assuming I want to stay dry. My access to the world is limited by the very slow satellite internet. What should take milliseconds actually takes seconds. Sometimes, I feel like I’m accessing an eight-inch floppy disk. I tried buying an iBook. I may finish the book in less time than it took to download. All this wouldn’t be so bad—after all, it’s not like I’m going anywhere—except such delays can play cruel jokes.
The rest of the story is at my link below.
Source: Barely Afloat – HumbleDollar