I started a message to my father about a small problem we had on deck and stopped because I could already imagine him worrying over the wrong detail. Then I rewrote it so nothing had really happened, which left me with another message about weather. We are both good at those. I don't know how much explanation makes a story clear and how much makes it sound dangerous. He used to tell me about broken refrigeration units while cleaning his tools, and I understood half of it, but I liked hearing him talk. Maybe he doesn't need my report edited down so far. The longer version is still saved. I'll read it again when I have a better connection.

One of the able seamen sat across from me after most people had left the mess and asked about the food I miss from home. Not where I'm really from or why I'm so quiet. Just the food. We talked longer than I expected, and he remembered something I'd said last week about my aunt. I felt comfortable, which surprised me enough that I noticed it while it was happening. Usually I only recognize that afterward. When another group came in, the conversation got louder and I left, but I wasn't relieved to escape this time. I would have stayed if it had remained the two of us. I've been thinking about that more than anything he actually said.

After washing the salt off my face I could still feel a rough line at my hairline, so I went back and rinsed again. The water was warmer than I wanted, but standing there with my eyes shut felt good after the wind on deck. My calves kept making small adjustments even though I was leaning against the sink. I notice the ship's movement more in the cabin than while I'm working, maybe because there is less to look at. Put on a clean shirt and sat on the bunk without shoes. The fabric felt almost too soft after the stiff collar I'd worn all day. I was tired enough to sleep, except my hands were still awake, wanting to pick at a loose thread in the blanket.