Sleep. Everyone knows it's quality not quantity that counts. For seven nights on the boat, I was deprived of both. The constant rocking motion, Jeff's snoring, the confined space and my various ailments combined to wake me every hour or so and deny me any kind of rhythm. I don't think I've ever been this knackered in my life.
Finally off the bloody boat, I got myself to a walk in clinic to have my eye looked at. He took one look at it and told me to go to hospital, so I packed my bags, promptly missed a ferry to the mainland by ten seconds, waited an hour for the next and dozed my way via boat and bus to downtown Vancouver. In a stroke of luck, the motel I'd booked is opposite the hospital. One hour, $750 later and I'm strolling back across the road with antibiotic eye drops and the diagnosis that I have almost certainly transferred my cold sore to my eye and am suffering from herpes of the cornea.
I retire for an early night. Lying in bed with my eyes closed, I can still feel the gentle lilting of the boat upon the water. I'm ready for a flurry of dreams about sheets and knots and points of sail - like at cooking school when all I could dream of was food, sailing has dominated my nocturnal life for over a week now.
Knowing what is wrong with me, and knowing that only more sleep can really lift me from this weary low that I find myself in - body and mind in irons - is a blessed relief. I can stay here as long as I want or need to convalesce, and with this thought, I drift off and sleep until 4pm.