Morning grumps

It is about the 50th day of the cruise. Later I will have several posts about Sydney, which I like a lot. But right now you're going to get a dump of all the ways I wish I were home.

I want to pet my cat.

I want to pop a Lean Cuisine meal into my microwave and pour myself a glass of milk and consume both in front of my TV, which has dozens of channels and doesn't show commercials for Holland America every ten minutes.

I want to walk on the Portland waterfront and see familiar sights.

I want to live in my own space.

I want to see Jeff and Lizz and Anne and not talk to them about this cruise. I want to know what's happening in their lives.

I want to take my shifts dispatching for TIP and help with the meals program at St. Stephens and go to church and worship in fine old high church Episcopalian fashion and sing hymns composed before 1900.

I wish this stupid cruise was over and all the "tell us about your cruise" conversations were over and my life was my own again, easy and casual and comfortable and MINE, to the extent anyone's life is their own. No more being waited on, no more four course dinners served by Iwan and Tika, no more twice daily room-cleaning by Achmad and Yudith, no more noontime announcements in elegant British tones of the latitude, longitude, and weather forecast.

Hmph. OK. Bloom where you are planted. But I still want to pet my cat.