Happy New Year

Hurray.
Hurray.

Happy New Year. When I think back to all of my new years, this one will always stand out as the worst. It’s not to say that it was an awful day in the context of being on the submarine, but in the context of celebration, it definitely was. I work the night shift, called “Mids”, so I was up for the switch to 2015. It consisted of the cooks frying up some jalapeno poppers and frozen burritos. Don’t get me wrong here — that’s a real feast when it comes down to food at sea, but I try to think about all the other good times instead. If anything, it will always be the New Years I spent out to sea away from the real world (and stone sober!).

Most importantly, I think about my New Years with Carissa, at home, doing nothing except hanging out, and I am thankful for those times because they are my favorite New Years. I sent Carissa an e-mail through a service called LetterMeLater, telling her to go out and have fun; I really hope she did. I also recall all the parties with Mikey over Christmas break in college; those were good times too, though I regretted every morning after.

New Years was a couple weeks ago now, strung loosely together in my mind by a container of C4 (the popular pre-workout energy supplement we use to stay awake), burned coffee, and administrative work. Time is continuing to warp as the days go on. I know that I’ve been at sea for a long time but I can’t explain where the time has gone. To me, it is still August 8th and I am trapped in the same day. It makes me wonder if things have changed in the real world. Seven months is a long time to be away. I don’t know how people make this a career.

It’s a bummer knowing that you’re going to be stuck out to sea, so when something breaks on-board, most people optimistically hope it’ll be broken enough to have us pull in. (In reality, though, we do our jobs to fix the boat and apparently we’re good at it, which is why we’re one of the few boats able to support what we’re doing right now). It’s more of a fantasty dream than anything; if only we got to pull into blah port for x days. When we do get news of a schedule change, it starts up as a collection of rumors pieced together from the radiomen, cryptic squadron e-mails, and occasionally chain of command updates. All these things mix together for a very unstable schedule, and everyone is clinging on the next big news.

So who really knows where to and when next.

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