Floating

Within a group of 8, yet I'm the outsider, the one who doesn't quite fit in. I'm relied upon to make the plans, know what's going on, document everything, and be the authority figure that will be ignored by grown people behaving like spoiled children in a candy store. Trying to drag them away from the bright, shiny lights of the casino, from the spirits of the bar, or from the blustery rage of ocean winds on the 10th deck where they can spew forth their cigarette smoke and drunken obscenities with abandon to get some form of nourishment within their bloated, booze-soaked bodies so they can proceed with wild abandon their rampant disregard for the gift of life they each possess.

Not that it was all bad; there were a few bright, shining moments. For example, having the opportunity to photograph fallen statues covered in moss and concealing dragonfish in Roatan, Honduras. Holding a parrot that took a particular liking to me in Cozumel to the point that his owner tried to sell him to me at a cheap price because the bird became attached so quickly. Or the beauty of watching the sunrise over the horizon of the Western Caribbean waters early in the morning, before the hungover zombies rise to pour coffee down their gullets in preparation for another day of debauchery.

Adrift in the sea, on a vessel carrying 2,600 people, yet I am alone. Cut off from the one who keeps me centered, the only one I care to talk to. And then, to return to the monotony and frustration of real life, expounded by the fact that no matter how I try, something will always come up that will turn things upside down. I guess it just is not meant to be for me to see the joy and beauty that is my life. I had high hopes, too.