Captain's Log, Day 8
Captain's Log, Day 8
The HMS TP for All is holding together, nothing but grit and salt in her bones. She has become more than a passenger on the high seas but has become the waters herself. She continues to care for my crew and me in unexpected ways, becoming almost alive, at least in my mind. She finds activities to keep our idle minds busy and our soft hands callused and rough.
For instance, there is always canine fur. Everywhere. How could one be bored when there is always canine fur to sweep? Then there are the dishes, the clothes, the rubbish. I turn my back for one moment and TP for All has flung her innards across the living quarters in a desperate attempt to give me something to do. I continually find my belongings scattered across the captain's cabin. Surely I am not misplacing my belongings? Surely this is the work of some spirit haunting my ship, or the ship herself?
In other news, I had the pleasure of a tête-à-tête with an old friend this morning. Perhaps that is inaccurate, as there was less talking and more singing (the singing was on my part). We were of course separated by the cruel mistress of distance and this ongoing pestilence but we made the best of it.
The HMS TP for All is holding together, nothing but grit and salt in her bones. She has become more than a passenger on the high seas but has become the waters herself. She continues to care for my crew and me in unexpected ways, becoming almost alive, at least in my mind. She finds activities to keep our idle minds busy and our soft hands callused and rough.
For instance, there is always canine fur. Everywhere. How could one be bored when there is always canine fur to sweep? Then there are the dishes, the clothes, the rubbish. I turn my back for one moment and TP for All has flung her innards across the living quarters in a desperate attempt to give me something to do. I continually find my belongings scattered across the captain's cabin. Surely I am not misplacing my belongings? Surely this is the work of some spirit haunting my ship, or the ship herself?
In other news, I had the pleasure of a tête-à-tête with an old friend this morning. Perhaps that is inaccurate, as there was less talking and more singing (the singing was on my part). We were of course separated by the cruel mistress of distance and this ongoing pestilence but we made the best of it.
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