The boat's rocking so hard things are falling down

In the middle of a 10-page paper which is due in less than 12 hours, my bloodstream is filled with caffeine and taurine, and in my ears, catchy punk music is keeping my head bobbing, shaking me conscious. I put my head down for a moment in front of my laptop. The table is the only thing colder than the air in this empty dining hall. I, for whatever reason, found myself in the pleasant memories of Bill I have stored, smiling. I want him to, at random, remember how much I appreciate him as often as I seem to arbitrarily find myself thankful for the way I’m able to feel when he’s within reach, or at least earshot. It’s been too long. I miss him. The absence of his voice on top of the distance between myself and the rest of his person is having its effect. He seems more like a favourite dream I used to have; something very close to me, special, personal, but existing at least for now only in my thoughts, and if then, only if I can focus clearly, and we all know how good at that I am.

I’m bummed, and as often as I resist ever realizing this, I’m lonely.

Ahh look at that. Misty eyes. It’s been long enough I guess.

Sometimes, I sit back and become conscious of the fact that I, Maria, am in the middle of some foreign ocean with people who just a month or so ago were (and in many cases still are) complete strangers. Really? Maybe I don’t know myself very well, but I was under the impression that I barely even like the people I know. What the hell am I doing around carbon copied 20-somethings who have no sense of social or ecological responsibility on a cruise ship? Cue the Twilight Zone theme.

The point of this entry, I guess, is that I’ve lost track of what it’s supposed to feel like when I’m dreaming.

Very, very many people here think I’m troubled. It became clear to me when I realized people found my behaviour strange while we’re in port. See, in port, I turn back into myself. I’m free and in a situation in which I wanted to be from the beginning. I’m in the place I was looking forward to. Context is crazy. Students, staff members, and crew were saying, “What the hell happened to you? Get some action or something? Cause I sure as hell have never seen you this happy,” and I respond with “What are you talking about?” because I feel relieved and content.

Not everyone thinks I’m an uptight activist. An RD here said to me during Apartheid day, “Maria, you feel things so strongly” when I was getting worked up over willful, perpetual ignorance and structural reinforcement of unawareness or oppression invisibility. I think that’s all. I think “feeling things strongly” translates to “hates everyone,” though. I don’t hate everyone, though; I only hate morons.