I haz it.
I think I’ve finally made some peace with Denver. I’m still not in love with the place, but at least I’m no longer teetering on the edge of hating it as I have been for so long. I’m not sure what prompted this sea change in attitude, but might’ve had something to do with finally being “permanently” employed and not having to worry any more about every single penny going out. Or maybe it was discovering how insanely easy it is to take public transit to work on snow days and avoid the stress of driving in the white stuff. Or maybe it was because the long list of to-do items for the car was slowly getting checked off. Or it might’ve been realizing that there were several aspects of living here that I’d actually miss if we left.
All I know is that something in my relationship with Denver has changed, and while I know rationally it’s nothing more than sheer dumb coincidence, this change also seemed to manifest in the physical world in a rather—dare I say it—magical way.
Long ago I determined that in my dreams, aquariums represent my general emotional and spiritual state of well being.
Last November I finally got around to setting my aquarium back up after being without it since leaving Phoenix in June. Since it had been empty for five months, it was for all intents a “new” tank, and I knew that setting it up would require a certain amount of patience to allow for the recreation of the all-important nitrogen cycle. I performed all the required due-dilligence, including letting it settle for a few days after filling it before adding a reasonable number of ammonia and nitrate-tolerant fish.
Everything was fine for the first few days, and then it clouded up. This was perfectly normal and expected, and I wasn’t even too concerned when brown algae (which isn’t really algae at all) appeared over the next couple weeks and spread like wildfire onto nearly every exposed surface. “This too shall pass,” I thought, in three to four weeks tops.
Well, as of two weeks ago, the situation hadn’t improved, and had actually gotten worse. I was starting to become worried.
While none of the fish had died, two of them were not looking well, and I could tell the tank was stressed. Despite all the literature advising not to do any water changes until the brown algae disappeared, I resolved that the following weekend I would do a partial water change.
Knowing what aquariums represent in my dreams, the thought had often crossed my mind over the past several weeks that this physical aquarium was quite accurately reflecting my actual emotional relationship with Denver: cloudy and full of nastiness. A week ago, after buying a proper drain-fill kit and discovering that none of the adapters fit any of the faucets in the apartment, I’d pretty much reached the end of my rope. After flooding the bathroom, I blurted out to Ben, “I hate this fucking city!”
Twenty-five dollars, another trip to PetSmart for an extension kit, some major disassembly of the kitchen faucet and several deep breaths later, I finally got the tank drained and refilled. The water was still cloudy, but at least it didn’t have the sickly yellow tinge it had before.
And then something happened. Over the next several days, my attitude about Denver changed.
By last Thursday, the water was looking pretty good. It was still a little cloudy when you looked lengthwise through the tank, but when looking straight on, it was clear.
Last night I went in to the bedroom to feed the critters and was blown away by what I saw. The water in the tank was now crystal-clear, not only when looking front to back, but also side-to-side.
And I realized so were my emotions.
Despite my growing atheism, I can’t deny that sometimes the Universe still just winks at you.
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