Every day.

When every day is the same it is up to the individual to create difference.

It has been three weeks. The position has tattooed itself to my psyche.

Fifty seven degrees fifty four minutes North, zero zero two degrees twenty six minutes West.

Three weeks. Three times seven is twenty one.

Twenty one days. Five hundred and four hours.

That is not a true representation of the time spent out here though.

Radar fix: Troup Head – One hundred fifty eight degrees by thirteen point four miles.

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Thirteen is bad. Superstitions run deep out here. We skip the thirteenth page of the logbook. On the thirteenth of every month we are extra careful. This probably skews the statistics in our favor. Rendering the thirteenth safer then other dates. But we do not see it that way. The potential is too high. Don’t fuck with thirteen.

Other things not to be messed with.

The Spaniard, he died during construction (supposedly). He drifts about the ship. Kept at bay by cloves of garlic hidden in strategic places.

Whistling, calling for the wind is often not a good idea.

Garlic, from ghost prevention to calming a finicky piece of machinery. If you see garlic you leave it to serve its purpose.

Back to time. It is not constant. It ebbs and flows around you. The first week. Snap your fingers and its week two. Week three is where the drag begins. Time scratches over you. Every breath remembered.

After the fourth week you run out of conversation. You know each other. To the extent you are even able to finish each others…….

Back to week three though. The present tense. I do this. I do that.

Rumors run the ship. Chased by gossip. He’s quitting. I heard he still lives with his mum. He’s getting his Canadian passport and going to Alberta to work with his brother. When your world condenses to a ship these are the things you care about.

Cargo on Sunday. It’s always Sunday. Steak night Sunday.

Reason its always Sunday? They get paid overtime. It’s Wednesday turning to Thursday. Three more days out here.

Fifty seven degrees fifty four minutes North, zero zero two degrees twenty six minutes West.

I have memorized the position. It will have been four weeks.

I am a Zen Buddhist Monk. Connected to all around me. I feel the gentle movement of the ship. Feel as the swells pass under us. Feel as the anchor chain tenses and relaxes against it. Through the chain I feel the anchor itself. Mild steel, weight twelve point five tons. Buried into the seabed. Through it I feel the Earth.

Zoom out.

Further.

All the way out.

I can see the whole world spread out. Mercator projection. Stretching the latitudes at the poles so as to make the planet flat.

This far out you can watch the rotation. Day to night to day to night. The time ebbs and flows and we stay here. Waiting.

When every day is the same the individual creates difference.

Some people watch endless games of football. Some escape into films. Some to books.

I write.

“Every day is different.”

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2 Responses to Every day.

  1. Ooo, I love this. Powerful. MORE!

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