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The cold grey sky is a relief from those days where you can see the sun but can’t feel it on the only patch of bare skin winter knows. I pull a bottle, the sound of the cork screw twisting down the neck and then pop, I’m overwhelmed with the scent of pure nectar. The clink as the bottle touches my glass and the bouquet awakens my senses. I’ve worn my pencil to the nub, my finger tips are raw from sliding up and down my tiny fret board. I’ve done far to many sit ups and pushups. It’s warm in here and in my mind I’m sitting on a white sandy beach, the smell of coconut wafting through me, soft balmy tropical breeze gently blowing across my bare skin.

Out of desperation I succumb to the humiliating dehumanization of digital dating. 12 hours and thousands of profiles down I realize I’m not attracted to one of these people. So cut and paste, thousands of empty desperate souls. I may be desperate but my soul isn’t empty. I delete the whole thing and come to the realization that perhaps I’m meant to go though this life solo. Windy went to a good home, or at least one with right angles and a yard where she can safely be left alone all day, cold and lonely. Living on a boat makes me unworthy of rescuing a pup. I move on, the days roll into one another. Boat parts arrive daily but the weather isn’t cooperating. I’ve made a second request of the boat yard to either move Sookie of take the mast down, another shroud broke in the last storm. The mast swings around like a pendulum when the wind blows as the ladder hanging from it sways to and fro. I can hear it banging all night from my cabin.

Depression slips though the door so quietly it didn’t recognize at first. I have know-body to blame but myself. I am the judge, jury and executioner. I’ve made my choice to remain here and while I still don’t know why, I’m starting to resent myself. I’ve taken to this little bit of security in having gainful employment, food on my table and a place to call home. It’s this security that is like a small leak in the dam. The water slowly trickles out like my life’s units, with each growing day it will increase until the dam fails and my life’s units are all gone. I’ve become a slave to debt. Not personal debt, I have none of that but future debt. If I just work long enough to earn enough, to have enough, then it will be enough. But you know what? It never will be enough, not till I’m too old to use it and then too much won’t be enough because it will have no value when I can’t spend the years of toil buying the youth that was given to us for free. It’s like willingly trading a brand new free car for an old shitty one that barely runs and then spending 40 years to pay for it. That leaking dam will never be full but it does have enough water to reach the sea.

I lay on my bed, the blankets are warm and soft. Staring at the ceiling it’s too far away. The walls are too square and the windows too large. This isn’t a home it’s a house. I miss Sookie where I can touch everything from everywhere, warm wood, aged and full of character. The darkness is surrounding me, I pull out my phone and check the weather in Tortola, it’s 82 today and every day. It’s 85 in Pate’ete, I can’t help but to wonder which one is closer. I guess neither as long as Sookie is on dry land. I watch a giant fire ball as a comet crashes to earth and take another sip from my genie in a bottle…

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