Monday, January 9, 2012

Winter Doldrums

Fans of maritime adventures know the devastating effects of the doldrums on the moral of sailors. Those long, lazy stretches of sea where the wind has completely died out and sailors have nothing but the grinding sameness of routine to mark the time from day to day. With the modern convenience of coal power, or some other sort of internal combustion, the doldrums no longer prove much of a nuisance. But less than a hundred years ago, sailors dreaded having to pass through those latitudes. The only cure for doldrums seemed to be scrubbing the deck, or making fancy knots or playing game after game of cards. In such confined quarters, it never took long before you lost your shirt, and maybe everything else along with it. But then again, the card shark could never quite get away from you either. And who knew, if you kept playing, you just might win it back again. Anything, and nothing could happen in the doldrums.

Gonga read about the doldrums last week. And the only reason he had time to read about such things was his own experience suffering through the doldrums. As a result, Gonga had taken to likening the down week of break after Christmas to the doldrums.

The first couple of weeks of break are fantastic. Christmas preparations, parties, food, songs, colored lights everywhere! But then the festivities end, all the decorations disappear, and you’re left with two more aching weeks before classes begin again. True, about three weeks into the semester, and you’ll be wishing you were back in doldrums, enjoying the peace and sunshine. But for now, you’re stuck in it, just waiting.

Gonga has been through his CD collection three times now. The first time he re-arranged all the CD’s so that they were in the proper case. The second time, he threw away CDs he decided were trashy, and made a list of the music he would like to acquire in the next year. The third time, he arranged them all in alphabetical order by artist.

He’s not sure what to do next. He’s almost wishing he had a deck to scrub, and a grumpy skipper to crack a whip and make him scrub it. At least then things would be a bit more interesting.

When the skipper failed to materialize, Gonga sighed and leaned his chin in his hand. Was it almost morning in Congo? Then at least he could Skype his parents and see if anything interesting was going on there.

Gonga tapped his fingers against the table top. Repetitive. Endlessly repetitive. Oh how he hated the winter doldrums.

The Textbook Game Blogger: Laura Prather

No comments:

Post a Comment