Water Columnist

There's a place, somewhere up there. A place where the sun is setting, and that means something. The end of the day, the beginning of the night. Time to rest, or time to get to work.

You came down here out of love. A love for weird and spiny and inexplicable things.

To talk in light, you think would be interesting. We see too much sometimes, you think it might be easier if all we could see was intrinsic. A flash of threat, a wooshing splash of beckoning, the dim inviting light of a predator, and the pitch black of a stomach designed to combat the dangers of it's christmas tree-like prey.

Did you come down here out of a yearning for simplicity? An escape? Or to immerse yourself in the complexity and esoteric nature of your love?

All you've gained is isolation.

However, none of that seems to matter. You are an octopus, watching yourself sleep.

What do you do?

>Explore your surroundings with your wiggly appendages

>I second the explore

>make funny faces against the glass

You don't have to walk on the ocean bed. But you can, and that means you have something those fish don't.
>Strut along the ocean bed to assert dominance over any nearby fish.

It's Avatar, but you're an octopus.

> Find another sea creature; fall in love.

>make funny faces against the glass

do that one thing where you breathe on the glass and draw on it, like so:

Exit the tank, put on a tie and moustache

>Bah! It's too early, keep sleeping.