In Which the Apocalypse Girl Discovers She's Married to Apocalypse Husband

I got home yesterday, and the first thing my spouse said was, "The reefs are gone."

I said, "Already?"

I turned the car off on Friday, as oil was expected to wash ashore, and I hadn't heard a news update since. I knew that the coastline of Louisiana and points east and west were doomed, but I hadn't really thought about our own coastline.

Of course, the Gulf of Mexico is a big bowl; oil will wash out of it. And there are currents that could take the oil all the way up to the Chesapeake Bay. And now that they're talking about not being able to cap the rig for 90 days, I wonder if it might go further north.

The reefs haven't been in good shape for a very long time. The last time I went diving, in August 2009, it was the day of the hottest ocean temperature ever recorded at Molasses Reef: 91 degrees. The reefs have been under attack because of the heat and the acidification of the oceans, not to mention all of us divers who love to go down and see them--we unintentionally cause distress just by our presence. It's hard not to brush against the coral.

I've known that we didn't have much time to dive; it's one of the reasons I got certified. But I hoped we had a few decades. I'm optimistic, for an Apocalypse Girl. I hoped that we would find a way to save the reefs.

Now, I fear my spouse is right. I'm usually the one who leaps to apocalyptic predictions. It terrifies me that he's the one predicting doom.