Not All Sweetness and Light

Dearest Rachel –

It’s been a while since I talked to you about earworms; frankly, it’s been a while since I focused much on any topic other than my travels. Let’s face it, on a trip like this, there’s rather a lot of that to talk about, to the exclusion of almost everything else. Even sea days have me doing this or that most of the time. Hey, it keeps me occupied, and gets me out of my room, where I’d otherwise rather be. And when you come down to it, even this story is at least tangentially related to my travels; the events leading up to it wouldn’t happen if I were staying at home.

And since I mentioned “events leading up to” this earworm, you can probably guess that I have a fair amount of preamble to go through. Hopefully, you can bear with me while I work my way there.

Let’s start with the fact that, even with a somewhat regular schedule of working out (although I still can’t quite settle on a time – the gym is too full when I’m chased out of my room by Marlon), I prefer to take a shower first this in the morning, every morning. Obviously, that doesn’t work out so well when I’ve rowed and walked myself sweaty enough to go through seven or eight hand towels in an hour or so of an evening; I need to wash up after all that exertion. Similarly, on ports of call this close to the equator, I’m hot and sweating by the time I return to the ship, no matter how little (or how much) exertion I put myself through. So there are days when I need to wash multiple times in a day.

At the same time, I don’t know what’s causing it, but my shower stall leaks to an improbable extent. On the first leg of this trip, it wasn’t happening so much, but now, it’s gotten to the point that it seems that more water winds up on the floor of the bathroom proper than in the stall, and the bath mat winds up completely soaked before I ever step out to dry off. I’ve tried just dousing myself for a moment or two and dry lathering, but it doesn’t keep it from happening. I wind up having to use both towels left for me simply to mop up the overflow, so that I don’t wet my shoes if I have to use the washroom later. It’s ridiculous, and it’s definitely one of those things I’m looking forward to leaving behind once I’m off this ship (odds are I won’t even have this problem when I get to my hotel in Dubai, let alone when I return home).

So, in lieu of taking a shower every time, and having to deal with the ensuing flood, I will often work out in swim trunks (they’re close enough to shorts that no one can tell the difference – if there even is one, frankly), and take a dip in one of the pools and, after rinsing off the salt water, the hot tub. It’s basically everything barring the soap.

The thing is, the hot tubs in particular are places to meet (and talk with) other people. This is where you’d be in your element, but it’s not exactly mine. I think I can fake sociability well enough, but there are some people that I still have trouble with. I suppose part of it is due to the fact that I don’t see the red flags – although, in my defense, I can’t see much of anything when I’m in the hot tub, what with leaving my glasses behind and all.

Really, when someone starts off a conversation – or even just a new topic – with a phrase like “I’m not really into politics,” I should know not to delve into it deeper. But we’d already been talking amiably enough about this thing and that, and out of politeness (and maybe morbid curiosity, as well), I asked this person to elaborate. Evidently, she’d been following this trial going on in her home town – which happens to be New York City, so while you may not know about it, having transcended the petty matters of this damp particle of space dust the rest of us inhabit, anyone else reading over your shoulder will know what and who this is about. This isn’t just any trial, this is quite specifically about politics, the disclaimer my conversation mate gave me mere seconds before notwithstanding.

And, fool that I was, I didn’t notice the angel on my shoulder fearing to tread further; I asked for further elaboration. Needless to say, I discovered to my regret that she was very much on the opposite end of the spectrum as myself. The only thing about the situation that concerned her was that things might not turn out to her liking; this is a trial, after all, and it’s up to the jury, who might (theoretically) rule one way or the other. I say “theoretically” now, and I implied it to her as well, pointing out that, in this jurisdiction, the ruling is a foregone conclusion.

Astonishingly, she mistook my cynical sarcasm for sincere agreement with her; “From your lips to God’s ears,” she remarked, a curious turn of phrase that I’ve learned over the last couple of years means roughly “I’m praying for that same thing as you’re saying, too.” She saw no problem in the suggestion that the deck was stacked for a specific verdict; as long as the verdict was the one she thought was right, this was A Good Thing.

The only saving grace was that she didn’t seem to think I was in philosophical and political opposition to her. For all I know, she may not think anyone could be; there’s a certain blinkeredness that some people have toward that possibility; “Who could possibly be so stupid as to believe [political philosophy that I don’t like]? They need to be silenced, lest they corrupt others with their stupidity.”

Meanwhile, I’m slowly waking up to the fact that there are people who disagree – vehemently – with my own political positions, but as long as I don’t elaborate on them (or apparently, couch them in a think layer of cynical sarcasm), they won’t know it. And it bothers me that I’m the one who has to keep silent, but that sense of vehemence frightens me; what would they do or say if they knew?

Because I’m unsettled by what I know about them – and I really wish I didn’t, at this point.

All of which has led me to having this song, however improbably, running through my head. I can only assume that it’s my mind wishing that I didn’t know where certain people stood on certain issues; “where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,” as the saying goes. Also, I’d like to think that I, too, could have “as much retaliation as a toy,” much like the singer.

But I know what I know, and there’s no way to just purge it from my brain. Indeed, I have to make mental notes about who not to talk about certain things in front of (although I can only recognize this person by her voice and accent, since… no glasses).

But for now, leak or flood, I should probably take a shower. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.