Just before writing this blog, I filled up five large basins with water and left them in the guys’ apartment bathrooms. They are not to put out fires. They are not to wash the floors (though we would likely benefit from that; we are not what one would call a domestic bunch). In reality, I was preparing our washing water for the next two days. Tomorrow morning, the water will be shut off for a 48-hour period. During this period, things will likely smell, featuring wafts of bathroom, sweat, and chalk.

Yes, we’re all very excited.

The fact that the water is being shut off isn’t really that surprising. Last year, the power was shut off at different points during rolling blackouts that were meant to facilitate power conservation. I suspect something similar is at work, though I am a bit perplexed as to how the rather Biblical amount of water that was gushing beyond the banks of the Jishou river a little over a week ago has receded, leaving a rather lazy, low stream of murkiness brushing over exposed rocks in the riverbed. China works in mysterious ways, I suppose.

Similarly, earlier today, I was a bit confused as to why six-year-olds are allowed to spray paint doors. It seems like tempting fate, especially when the six-year-old in question was holding a can gold, shiny spray paint, and the metal grate that she was supposed to be working on was surrounded by white walls. When I discovered her at work outside the teachers’ lounge (this happened this afternoon, during a lull in speech club when even the cicadas seemed to have dropped off), there wasn’t an adult in sight. I thought I was hallucinating, but then the fumes of paint brought me back. Perhaps my confusion stemmed from the fact that at her age, I would be having a field day with that can, likely attempting some unrecognizable pictures of animals trotting along the school wall.