I look fairly well for someone who was almost electrocuted over Christmastime. My boyfriend said he would call 911 after he stopped laughing. He also told me not to get all my tinsel in a tangle or worry about pine needles rupturing my fingertips while I’m taking down evergreen bedazzlement. That was right after he told me he can’t do everything himself. I made the mistake of having my body rub up against the pulsating charge of frayed extension cording. If you happen to have an electric current touching your daiquiri, it acts as a conductor and will cause you to glow in the dark. With one nerve left, I can now go ride up and down the escalator people watching at the airport. Although it would be better if I was booked to go somewhere. Which is one post holiday way of beating the blues by boarding a plane or going on a cruise. I need to do something invigorating. Last January I didn’t go anywhere but the market. I went one of those times forgetting the soup that was simmering on the stove. And a year ago I didn’t make as many groaning noises. I don’t want to become one of those people predispositioned for crabbiness and confinement.
Certain friends have been intensely bugging us to go on a cruise. My boyfriend has his reasons why he doesn’t want to die at sea. Rose clinging to a life raft and watching her beloved get swallowed up by polar water is reason enough for me. Several years ago I did consider going by myself. But I prefer the company of a close mate over hundreds of strangers. Besides, what would the likelihood be that I’d get involved with someone madly and passionately plus pose nude with a priceless pendant around my neck? I would have had to stand on a street corner holding a sign that says Will Work For A Cruise to be able to fund such an ocean soaring misadventure. And be fully prepared to take a jug of wine, a corkscrew, and a pen and paper in case we capsized and I need to send an SOS. Otherwise I’d be making an unavailing attempt at cramming my contortioned self into the empty bottle. It would also be suitable to take thermal insulated clothing, flares, and a water-resistant Smartphone with close connections to helicopter rescue pilots.
I find it hard escaping to expansive seas, the strange smell of fresh air, and approximately sixty thousand passionate seafaring partiers rocking the boat yelling, “Bon Voyage” “Asta La Vista” “Toodle Loo” or “It’s a good ship Lollipop.” Sounds like a suicide watch. And there’s this strange assumption that the fourteen tiered cabin cruisers supposedly promise you everything except camel racing and monster truck rallies. I’m not into camping either. But at least on a ship you don’t have to worry about bears, sparks of fire singing your eyebrows, and you have chefs cooking you fine cuisine. Although I’m sure I would gain another million post holiday pounds per minute digesting their hefty floating feasts. If I ordered the fricassee of flounder, I would want them bringing me all the desserts by mistake. That way I wouldn’t be tempted to order confections afterwards.
I’m wondering which would be worse. Staying at home and risk getting the flu, or participating in an outbreak trapped aboard a glacial targeted superstructure with no means of escape. Not to mention motion sickness and upchucking at two minute intervals. Rocking swiftly and doctors bearing hypodermics are more of a sickening thought than an exciting one. And the trouble with finding myself near a ships railing is that sharks become hungrier than ever. I would have to trustingly rely on a captain with balanced driving capabilities, who can get me places safely and not do transatlantic detours to specific ports for any ‘special supplies’. I wouldn’t want an arsenal of armed guardsmen greeting me. Pirating is another fragment of my fettered imagination. Good guys go to heaven, but marauders go anywhere they darn well feel like. And surely everyone knows what can happen in Vegas if I choose to venture there.
Resolutions and decision making can be tough. If I haven’t made changes and rational decisions by January 7th, I give up. The first month of the year normally doesn’t lend to energetic living. I celebrate sunups and sundowns. I read. I do Bacardio workouts. I shine coins with copper cleaner and think about penguins. And I resolve to live optimistically. I will repel any thoughts of discontent and get active in doing something constructive. I will keep the weight loss myth going by setting out a box of doughnuts to see if I’ll be enticed. I will manage my drinking paranoia. I will look into health care plans devoted to the distress of not having health care. I’ll continue death threats crank calls to the Barackian Palace. I am curious as to what 2015 would be like without certain heads of state. And I will further contemplate that impending voyage. Bless you for not snickering at my unachievable resolutions. Nobody likes a silent sober skinny seasick stalker. I feel I should go with the lesser of all evils (off roading) and spare myself from dysentery, dengue fever, seapox, predatory glaciers, and drowning. I originally moved to California to be a vegetarian. As it turned out, I moved west and became a sexagenarian. I certainly don’t want to become a shark-ingesterian. So unless I have an all expense paid cruise supplying me with weapons and personal safety, only fools rush into these commitments. Wise men say a lot of things, but never “go on a cruise.”
My boyfriend recently asked me, “Wanna go cruisin’ baby?” I surrendered to his terms. We threw away our to-do lists, grabbed his kayaks, sailed around the San Diego Bay for the afternoon, and were perfectly happy campers.
(Posts can be seen in the weekend editions of The Parson’s Sun newspaper in Kansas)