Dearest Rachel -
I still haven't gotten the point where I'm quite accustomed to the time zone. It's probably not helped by the fact that I don't see myself as having much to do after dinner, since I'm not the club type. Last night, after wrapping up, assembling a couple of videos from the day, I was ready to call it a night, only to realize that it was barely nine o'clock.
Well, that's the beauty of being on vacation, I suppose. You eat when you want to, sleep when you want to, and who's to tell you otherwise?
I forget whether I've mentioned the fact that my cabin is on the port side of the ship. Since at the moment we're headed south, toward French Polynesia, this means that my balcony faces the east. So if I'm to catch the sun, it's to happen in the morning; it also means that, should I wake up early enough, I can even get a glimpse of the sunrise. Given how early I went to bed, you can probably guess that I managed that this morning… sort of.
This is what I saw as I stepped out onto my balcony.
Even just before six, it's warm and humid outside; which should come as no surprise, as we are only 8° north of the equator at this point, and moving fast. We may have joked about "cruise ship speed" when we would drive in one of those 25 mile an hour speed zones, but when I'm looking at the compass app and watching the seconds change every couple of… well, seconds, it's wild to realize that we might very well be there, at the belt of the world, at some point in the mid-afternoon.
But that's assuming we don't have any trouble along the way; you know full well what they say about red skies in the morning.
Indeed, it's uncomfortable out on the balcony for more than just the humidity. Both the floor and the chairs are quite damp, precluding me from staying out there and taking a seat to watch the sun rise. Bear in mind, my balcony is somewhere between fifty and sixty feet above the ocean's surface; you would think it would take some real effort for water to spray up this high, and yet, here we are.
We may be in for some rough seas, for all for all I know.
As it's still early in the morning, and I don't really want to think about it, I close the blackout curtains, and did what I could fall back asleep. But the sound of the wind and the waves seep through the darkness; there is no return to unconsciousness once wakefulness has been thrust upon me. Combined with the contemplation of what we might be about to face, it makes me wonder if seasickness can't occasionally be attributed to the mere anticipation of what might be.
Not that I'll admit to anything resembling seasickness, no ma'am. If anything, the rocking motion of the ship resembles what I imagine it would be like to be a baby, rocking in its cradle. If you don't think about what's causing the rocking, it's actually quite soothing.
But that's the key; if you do begin to think about it – and then tack on the thought that, based on the look of the sky this morning, things are likely to get considerably worse over the next few hours – there's a certain unease that creeps up on you.
So, I surrender to the dawn, and reopen the blackout curtains… to this:
I won't say that there's not a cloud in the sky…
… but those same skies are now the sort of blue that allows one to anticipate a beautiful day
It would seem that I've wasted another good worry – and I'm fine with that. better to be pessimistic and be proven wrong than the other way around. Time to get on with a perfectly calm day.
Or possibly not. You still can't go out on the 12th deck, and the pools been roped off due to the "bad weather."
I honestly don't know what to make of this, honey. Perhaps, given another couple of hours, things will settle down. I think I can almost guarantee they will change. For now, though, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
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