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I tend to write about people. My father figure, Joseph, tends to write about abstractions – religion, place.

We are in the ship yard in Bellingham, the two of us. We have hauled out at an 80 plus ton boat, for maintenance. the painting is going well, aside from me being so nervous and my first time as a sailor, painting a hull, I got really toxic paint in my eye. I freaked out and washed my eye out for the afternoon. I’ve had enough encounters with ER after cancer.

Also, the farm is going crazy with growth after rain and hot weather. I miss it. And I want to go home to my job.

I had a long talk with CJ tonight. I know I need to keep digging out of my hole.

He said, “You think you take care of me. But I take care of you.”

I said, “I think it has been likewise. You have been the father to me I never had,”

He said, “I do no want to be your father. I want to be your friend.”

I said, “What is a father but a friend?”

He is convinced that I need to hang around the ship yard and write about these characters. For one, I met a fisherman who just flew in from Sarajevo.

I want to make a home for myself and my child. I want to rebuild my life from scratch.

I want to be in a place where I can write through the pain I have lived.

I want, I want – we want so much in life.

Maybe we want too much, sometimes. Or maybe we don’t want enough.

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