DAY 9.

I feel to be in between. I nap and think. I listen to John Cash’s ”Hurt” and some Joni Mitchell. Melancholy. I guess I’m getting ready to leave this ship even though it feels like home. All my things are everywhere, routines, same actions after another. There were pancakes for breakfast, this was new. They were good. The cabin is dusty, no vacuuming and wall-to-wall carpet. All my clothes feel dusty, too. Time has no meaning. I could get used to it with my attitude on living, but I’m not sure if it would be healthy for me. I understand the seamen. It’s said that they get drunk and party on at the harbour cities. I would probably, too. It’s like during the heat wave when you can’t do much, just watch the time pass by.

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