There is little in the way of solitude on a ship, and when one has to deal with the presence of a another person, however considerate, in what was once her own hard-earned, heavily protected, very private sanctuary, there is even less.
So it is that I find myself turning more and more to the solitude found in the written word. By which I mean words that others write, not myself. My writing is…I don’t know… something else. But it’s not solitude, I don’t write for solitude. But read? Oh yes, I read for solitude. Where do you think the entry titled “Closing Time” came from all those months ago? That was a real recording of the last ten minutes of my evening, on a night when I had just boarded the ship and I was trying to process a lot of things at once.
Not that I’m not still trying to process a lot of things at once, we all are.
Like everyone else, I create my own version of sanctuary. Some find it in music (I envy them), some in video games (I pity them)…or others like me…in the satisfying rustle of a page. It always disappoints me when I can’t fully immerse myself in a book, when I’m too tired or too busy or the book is too thick, or when I just seem to lack the ability for no particular reason. But when I need it, I can disappear.
As of late, with every other option for privacy eliminated…I’ve needed it.
I’ve never understood people who ‘don’t read’ though I know many of them, some very close to me. For me, I’ve always said that you could take away my computer, take away my television, take away any of the myriad distractions this electronic world could provide – and, while I’d suffer withdrawal for a while, I ultimately would be fine. If you took away my library…my personal one, not the one I work in…I would very quickly go mad…
Like I said, there’s very little solitude on a ship, especially one that you’ve spent so much time on, established such a reputation with.
It’s sometimes odd realizing that I live on this ship. I don’t just work here, this isn’t a normal contract, and this isn’t a temporary home. This is home. People come and go, shift and blend, appear and disappear, and I stay still. Like a rock in the middle of the river. I’m established. Part of the furniture. Somewhere along the line, I’ve become part of the permanent flagship crew…something you never could have convinced me was going to happen even this past spring when I first walked up this ship’s gangway. That’s something my roommate said to me the other day, after asking me whether or not I thought the dimensions of our shared cabin were smaller than other ships. I told her I didn’t really know, since I’d spent most of the last year in this exact room.
I keep forgetting that this is your home…
Don’t mind me, the end of the year always kind of makes me like this…
I agree! Books are also my best way to retreat! I’d have list my mind during all my hospital stays and recuperations if it weren’t for my books! Although I must still contend with people who insist on talking to me while I physically have my open book in hand! Have they no respect?!