My face is pulp. My guts is pierced. Best shape I've been in.
My feeling of apprehension has settled into the pit of my stomach and won't let go. The temporary worry of certain events masked the true cold feeling, but now that it has passed, I return to my former mentioned ship. I stand and look out over the waters. Days from land, I know a storm is coming. A bad storm. I am not alone on this ship, but I don't know who is with me. I don't know if it will kill us, but it will certainly make us stronger. This is not told to me by this dream, this feeling. All that is revealed is the impending doom.
I still can't sleep.
I know we have made this storm. We have brought it on ourselves. I feel like hurtling death at those on this boat. To quote a greater man than I, "I look at people and I see nothing worth liking."
My work continues on various projects. I wish I could get my hands on a lathe again. I am able to focus when working a piece of wood like that.
I think I want this. I want to know this. I know I am fucking terrified.
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