Acclimating to the rhythms of ship living and avoiding the real world

There's a routine that becomes apparent after prehaps three days on a cruise ship (or ocean liner in our case - noted distinction for those who care). And perhaps it's just been my experience, but this blog happens to be about what my eyeballs see so here you go: 

• Wake to the knock of our breakfast-bearer, who comes in with a huge tray of goodies to enjoy in bed. 
• Spend the first half of the morning enjoying said meal and preparing bodies and minds for the day. 
• Grab a coffee drink at the Godiva bar, but avoid Godiva-involved drinks because they are extra (in all the ways Godiva can be). 
• Take in a lecture about art or history (skip the ones about gemstones and facial hydration). 
• Enjoy a classical guitar perfromance in a very fancy theater, watching the curtains sway with the movement of the ship. 
• Book it to the other end of the ship for the daily tea service and eat tiny sandwiches and scones with clotted cream (which I think is butter without salt???). 
• Rest in the state room and read. 
• Head to dinner, follow the night's dress code and enjoy the company of four other passengers who have become friends. 
• Pretend to be going to an after dinner show but instead head back to the room for more reading (well, except once - stayed up late last night for a comedian). 

These are the days and we are getting very used to it. It's like we have jumped into an alternate universe that exists only to distract from pressing problems of the world. It's not just like that - it is that. We watch the water of the Atlantic outside the windows and pretend that everything's okay, which by the way is so much easier to do when the internet is so hard to come by. It's nice for us. But we will be getting off this ship and as much as I'm trying to avoid it, I must stop dodging the news, the awful and ever-terrifiyng news of the day. In the background right this moment Louis Armstrong is singing "What a Wonderful World" and wouldn't that be nice. Floating on my privilege as I have been for days is increasingly disorienting as news of the countless horrors filter into our bubble. George went to a protest yesterday. I'm so proud of him. I wish I was there right beside him at the very same time that I'm so grateful to have this time with my mom. We live in this moment, swaying with the ocean, attending benign events, being served breakfast in bed, savoring every minute of our time together. And then, I will return to fight, again and again and again. What a wonderful world.