I know nothing about boats but I learn fast and never forget.

I’m willing to do the jobs no one else wants.

My kids are grown, I’m divorced, retired at 35. I’m not quite forty yet.

I need to get away and I need to work impossibly hard like I’m used. I need to get away from the gun in my safe calling me.

I’ll work myself to death at any shipping job.

There’s got to be a captain looking for a newbie like that.

  • isyasad@lemmy.world
    1·
    11 hours ago

    Reminds me of the beginning of Moby Dick

    Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.