On Spongedom

Being in Haifa is like being a sponge. 

Not the thin, sturdy, dense types you mop up spills with, but the big, holey, car-wash types that have more air holes than not. 

Here, your spongey self gets to sit essentially inanimately under a dripping tap. By no will of your own, but by that of your land lord that placed you there. 

So you sit here, under this tap, and you soak up the drip. You simply soak. Up. 

You soak up til you're full. Til you're heavy, and til the holes are no longer gaseous vacuous voids, but little pools of liquid droplets. 

The thing is, the holes will never fill out. The sponge comes with holes. Its just the nature of the sponge. The holes will be holes. Forever. Through weathering and general wear and tear, the holes may in fact become more vacuous over time. But all that does is allows for greater water-holding capacity. 

The sweetest part is, when the holes are filled with water, the sponge's purpose has come into fruition. A sponge is no use dry. But then again, a full, inanimate sponge is a field trip for mould. Filling is only part of the purpose - wringing out is the other. 

By the time you leave this place, you are a full, brimming sponge of great water-yielding capacity. 

Then, its time to wring. 

pic: smosch