Micky and I really enjoy the water. In it, on it, around it and drinking it in. Most people do. But for the American psyche it's all about input. That changes when you get a boat, sail or power, or an RV. Or simply take more steps away from civilization than your bladder will allow.
So, shoo the children away from the monitor, I'm going to talk about output.
Except for sweat, every ounce of water we take in is gonna come back out. If you do all the right things it comes out on schedule, has the right color and consistency, and you feel really happy!
It's the colors and consistencies that the water picks up on the way through that cause the problem.
We have evolved a very deeply seated revulsion aimed at our own waste. This is really good as we call those who indulge in coprophagia crazy! And other people's output is absolutely horrible when compared to the daintiness and necessity of our own. Even a loved one makes a horrible mess.
I calculated for a friend that his baby would generate 800 pounds of soiled diapers in a year. Even the Gerber baby is a terrorist on this account.
On a sailboat, it all has to be dealt with. Even though we spend the time and money to simulate the same white porcelain dainties we have at home. The pipe ends about four feet away.
In an RV, we have a home-style facility not 150 feet away. But you wouldn't believe what happens to the water that we drain from the sinks in the kitchen and bathroom when it sits in 85 degree heat for anytime at all.
Which brings me to the point of all this. Waste always flows downhill.
In our RV the highest point of the euphemistically-named "grey water" tank is about 3 inches higher than the drain of the bathtub. When the tank fills, the bathtub does too.
Last night, despite the presence of electronic tank gauges, and a regular schedule of taking away 27 gallons of wonderful at a time, the tank filled. Micky demonstrated to me the DNA-deep nature of our aversion to that smell in no uncertain terms. No amount of rational explanantion absolved me of the smelly fact that the dirty clothes bag was soaking in the fetid, bacteria-rich soup that is our "grey water".
This is not a good use of "Grey". The low, leaden clouds scudding across a New England winter sky. That's grey. The smooth side of a porpoise sliding next to your boat. That's grey. Even the upholstery on a rented 1988 Ford Taurus is grey!
It should be called what it is. Waste. Necessary, ubiquitous, world-choking waste.
What you do with it is what matters. We are evolved to make waste and move on. The problem is there are limited places to move to. So I did the right thing and in the middle of the night, moved the waste from the internal tanks to the portable tank and then put it in the sanitary system provided. All so that I didn't have to move on.
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