This isn’t where I am today, but it’s where I was a few years ago. There were some other water issues this weekend, so this seemed fitting for today…
In the middle of the rainy season, our tap is dry. The toilet won’t flush, face washing grinds to a halt, and showers have become a luxury of last week.
There’s so much water in the streets—great puddles of it—filmed with engine oil, sunk in the mud, backing out of drains, floating pounds of soggy debris. But there’s none in the pipes.
It seems as though we’ll never get shoes and socks and sweaters dry. Umbrellas and raincoats and laundry cover every available surface, drying. But washing dishes and hair and teeth is suddenly nearly impossible.
It will be off for 48 hours, “they” say, and since it went off an hour earlier than announced, does that mean 49? Or will it come back on an hour earlier?
All this vain speculation gives the illusion of some sort of control.
Life without water seems so much more drastic than life without electricity. Candles and daylight are functional, and the stove and hot water heater are gas, anyway.
But there’s no artificial water. No substitute for pure H2O.
So we’ll sit, and listen to the rain, and hoard our kettles of water, and hope.