Cruises are big. I get it. Get on a boat. A new surprise every morning. Eat. Sleep. No effort required: Presto bingo bango. There you are in another place.
All that water though. Dark, deep, shifting; filled with strange things. Big, quick, small; alien things in an unknowable, uncontrollable, unpredictable viscous vastness.
Not my style. Ok, I have a phobia of deep, dark, vast water.
Half the fun is not getting there. Getting there is a necessary inconvenience which causes great dreading, crying and praying. Once on that silver coffin with wings getting there should be without delay – instantaneous, like science fiction: here now then, whoa, there! How did that happen? With liquor, that’s how.
And then the delicious unpacking. Your whole holiday stretching out before you like a white sand beach. The daze fading into nights. Just the now. Until it’s over.
What is that in the harbour? A white, glistening ship just waiting for tourists to flock onboard.
No, not going to do it. Once again I choose the emptiness of space. After the engines cut out it will be a long way down. I hope I packed the Ativan.
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49th and Pacific 
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