it’s like living in a van but a little better.
the changing tides mean that the boats and dock will move vertically about 10 feet over the course of a day. this feels like it would be a big deal, but the only real effects are how steep the incline is from the dock to the shore, and the sulfur smell that is revealed when the tide is at its lowest.
the echoing sounds of seals barking and honking is always wonderful, and the few times we’ve gotten to see them feel like a blessing.
everything is custom built and geared for the wealthy in a way that’s inescapable. luxury behemoths in the dock towering over the more humble crafts. the parking lot full of teslas, vintage sports cars, and various specialty vehicles. fliers hanging in the marina office windows advertising boats selling for six figures. in the shadow of ridiculous mansions with huge, open windows to take advantage of the view they payed a premium for. it all leaves me feeling like a scurrying rat, hiding in shadows and cracks as i go about my tasks.
sometimes the boat rocks and i’ll get a little confused and scared for a second, because i forgot i’m on a boat. other times, when the weather is causing a constant, erratic rocking i’ve gotten used to, stepping onto solid ground feels disorienting and off-putting. smoking weed and laying down while the boat is rocking is recommended and fun.
fears of both tripping and falling in the water, or dropping something important in, never go away.
the surrounding area is all boat services, expensive houses, and a few horrifically overpriced restaurants. you have to walk about a mile and a half before you find the first place intended for real human beings, a quiet, tucked away 7-11, right next to the closest bus stop. this isolation is by far the worst part of living here.
alanis saw a bird as tall as a man just standing on the dock one night. we think of him like some kind of undocumented cryptid, protecting us.