One week to go, and time expands to fill every nook and crevice of each day, each hour, each second, remaining in my contract. Xeno's arrow notwithstanding I know I'll somehow arrive at April 10th (barring unforeseen circumstances of course).
Judy Kolba, the current headliner appearing on the ship, ends her show with a little monologue on time. It starts something like this:
“Imagine that each day you are given 86,400 dollars to do with whatever you like. The only thing is, you cannot save any of the 86,400 dollars you got yesterday to spend today, and you cannot put aside any from today to use tomorrow. You have to spend it all today.”
The audience murmurs as it considers this pleasant fantasy.
“Consider this. Each day we are given 86,400 seconds to do with what we like. We cannot use any from yesterday, and we cannot save any for tomorrow. We have to use it all today.”
She goes on a bit, giving some examples of the value of time, noting how fast it passes in the long run, and ending by thanking everyone for sharing their valuable time with her. It's inspirational, you know.
Well, that's all fine and dandy, but I've got these 86,400 seconds to spend each day, and little, it seems, to spend it on! And what with the inflated value of seconds as I near the end of my contract, they become even more difficult to spend. But spend (or fritter) them I do. On what, I don't know exactly.
I find myself looking forward to such things as boat drill, simply because it will use up some of this excess time. Well, you see, I get up relatively early, around 7:30 a.m., and often don't work until, say, 9:00 at night. That gives me quite a bit of “free” time. I mean, I could have a whole other career going just in the time off I have.
I could be a logistics expert, for example.
In one of my early blog entries I wrote how there is no excuse for being bored on a ship like this. It's such a microcosm, so many interesting people, so many stories to hear about. Now the ship seems more like, “...a bad play surrounded by water.” (Clive James in Unreliable Memoirs Chapter 17).
I think end-of-contract anxiety mimics boredom, or at least produces some of the same symptoms, of which time-stretching is one, and the related feeling of being in a prison is another (I sometimes find myself pacing around as if I'm locked in a cell with nowhere to go).
I'm less inclined to line up another contract now than I was a while back. At this point I'm thinking about what I can do on land to avoid having to return to the ships. And this after describing the joys of shipboard employment in so many of my blog entries!
I think this is temporary, though. After a few months back on dry land I'm pretty sure returning to the ships will become once again an attractive proposition. I'm homesick now; maybe I'll get seasick again after a while back on land.
A shirt I picked up that reflects a common sentiment among crew
