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I could hear the water rushing by the hull, gurgling and bubbling. Hot, humid but somehow impossibly perfect. Somewhere out there on my dream ship. It felt strange almost as if it weren’t real. Suddenly I woke from this dream. Lost in a square bed, in a square house in a square life. Then it happened her name popped into my mind Emily…

 

I hadn’t heard of or thought about her in years, she just had sort of fallen off the map. Did she swallow the hook? Sink? Captured by pirates? No maybe she moved into a grass hut to take a break. Last I’d heard of her was years ago. A friend was anchored next to her on Papua New Guinea. He had long since finished his pacific circumnavigation.

It’s still pitch dark out but now I’m wide awake. I quick google search and I found her alive and well. I pause and wonder why some sailors succeed in cutting the lines while others fail. How some people sail on and on often penniless while others who are handed the world can’t seem to keep the ship rolling.

I put on my head lamp and pour a cup of coffee, walk through the dark to find Sookie, this place is creepy after the sun goes down, a graveyard for lonely and forlorn boats. I walk around her and then climb up into her crooked cabin. The boatyard had safely nestled her right beside water and power. As soon as I left they moved her. She is bow down with a 3 degree list, it’s so in natural.

I flip though my log book, no regrets but if I could do it over again I would of left her in CA where it’s always warm, she’d be done by now. Up here you get one of two choices. Spend the season sailing or work on the boat. Covered and heated sheds are few and far between in this region. I could have just stayed at work and payed somebody to do all the things I need done, I’ll still end up paying for some of them.

Is this an island paradise I’m living in or a spiraling vortex of non productivity. There are few young people here, no jobs, very little way to earn anything unless you want to squirm though crawl ways under people’s houses cleaning rat shit. But still… endless summer is close, a bit closer each year.

If I could just sail 75 days each spring. Work the summer and ride the fall. That leaves 3 months a year for drifting about somewhere warm, maybe just my daypack and a hammock. I’m so close yet so far away from it all. The constant grey is nice but those cold blue sky’s we’ve been having eat away at my soul. I have it good here, too good. Some days I feel like a frog in a pot of slowly heating water.

Back in my cubicle I surf the web looking for anyone out there sailing on a budget. Seems everybody has swallowed their anchor. My mind needs feeding so I pull out a book but it bores me. I put on the radio, nothing but static. Down to the restaurant for a hot breakfast but I stop dead at the door, I can’t afford this if I’m going to escape. Back in my little kitchen chopping garlic and cheese for a breakfast burrito I think about Emily. I guess we all have our reasons for pulling the plug…

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