Home feels strange. It always does, but sometimes it feels stranger than others. Home where the floor doesn’t move, where the view outside my window doesn’t change drastically every day, where there is no sound of grating wheels against corrugated metal at all hours of the night. One thing about home is that it’s very quiet, that often makes it a challenge to sleep the first few nights back – much like people who move from New York to the country and need those white noise tapes in order to adjust.
Home, where it sometimes feels that my life has moved on without me in it. Just like everything is different every time I come back to the ships, when I come home everything is different again. Friends have moved on, anchor chains have shifted and I’m just sort of in transition between my two worlds, trying to figure out where I’m supposed to belong, and who I’m supposed to belong with.
Answer: me. I belong with me.
Whatever that might mean.
Since it appears that I’m in need of some time in my own head before I head back out – which won’t be for a long while yet (head office has granted me two full months off, I have no idea what I’m going to do with that much time!) , the time has come to temporarily close this book again.
Fair winds and following seas everyone, I will see you all again shortly
Hey I’m not the boss of you!