Although I've never been much of a religious person, since moving aboard Sea Gem, I've found myself saying silent prayers to Boreas, who is responsible for the harsh, north winds of the winter and is one of the Ancient Greeks' four distinct wind gods. The Ancient Greeks were rather thorough when it came to thinking up gods - probably the result of having no television or internet to occupy their time. They seem to have had a god for nearly every naturally occurring phenomenon. Very elaborate. Very detailed. Very glad I'm Jewish.
Aeolus by Alexandre Jacovleff
In general, I appreciate the wind. It allows our boat to sail, makes pinwheels spin, and provides me with a perfect scapegoat for a bad hair day. In general, I also like sleeping on a boat. In fact, sleeping on a boat is one of the best things about living on a boat (I don't think Eric or I have ever slept so peacefully). That being said, neither of those statements applies during Boreas' busy season (which is occurring now).
It is hard to explain what it is like sleeping on a boat in the winter when the wind is rough. You'd think the movement would be the worst part, but you'd be wrong. The worst part is actually the noise (not the sound of the wind itself, but rather the sound of the water pounding against our hollow, fiberglass boat). Describing the sound and force of the water against our boat is difficult, but I can assure you it is absolute torture when you are trying to sleep. When the noise level becomes unbearable, I begin praying to Boreas for respite (well, it isn't so much praying as it is me having an internal dialogue with myself in which I pass through the stages of grief).
First comes denial. This stage only lasts for a few moments, and isn't so much actual denial, but rather the confusion that comes with being half awake and legitimately clueless as to what is going on. Once I get my bearings, I quickly descend into anger, which is typically accompanied by a dash of whining. I usually alert Eric to my feelings at this point. Next comes bargaining. This is when I lay in bed, wide awake, and make veiled threats to Boreas, which are immediately followed by half-hearted apologies and semi-legitimate offers to spread awareness about his existence (it's my bad cop/slightly better cop routine). This is usually the point at which Eric hands me a pair of earplugs and I fall back asleep before ever having to officially close any deals with Boreas.
Soon enough the winds will change, and I won't have to contend with Boreas' temperamental ways. Although I'm fairly certain he isn't reading this blog, I'm hoping word of it reaches him, and he graces me with at least a month's worth of restful nights in return. Until then, I have my earplugs standing by.