Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep
I’m tired and I
I want to go to bed
Sing me to sleep
During the 1st of April, 2019, it seemed like all the students aboard T/S Gunilla (with the notable exception of the ever waking Wilmer) had listened to Asleep, perhaps the saddest song in the giant pool of sad songs by Smiths. Don’t worry too much however – as far as I know there are no undercurrents of sadness as profound as Morrissey proclaims in this immortal song to be found onboard any more than one can expect in a group of 18/19-year olds – you see, the thing was merely that there was no one awake that didn’t have to be. Everyone just wanted to sleep more than anything else. I woke up at 3:30 in the AM, not driven by some masochistic tendencies as some earlybirds inclined towards morning jogging or the like seem to have, but simply because me and my watch team, Midships, have to wake up that early in order to be ready for our morning watch at 3:55. Four hours of especially malicious rains and a wind that seemed to blow through my bones despite my two layers of fleece sweaters and my oil raincoat and –pants passed by surprisingly quickly and after the always wonderful breakfast after being relieved at 8’o’clock by the 8-12 watch I buried myself in my berth for a morning nap.
Upon waking up, however, I quickly realized that almost no-one from my watch team was up. Oh well – c’est comme ça et il n’y a rien de faire, I thought to myself and sat with my book until lunch at 11:50. After lunch the lessons certainly would have to be a bit more populated, I mistakenly thought. The thing was that people were so tired upon this day that the always understanding Anne-Li permitted those who felt the need to go sleep instead so that tomorrow’s lessons might be more constructive. After a while of trying to study, I myself started to feel my spirit sapping out of my bones and my eyelids turning to lead or concrete – so I permitted myself some sleep. This was probably a good decision, because my afternoon watch between 4 and 8 went fine and I was able to go to sleep once more at 800 hours.
Let us hope that the following days will contain the spirit of Cemetry Gates (yes, it is supposed to be spelled that way) or even Russholme Ruffians rather than Asleep.
Fair winds, Fabian Harling
P.S. Love the Smiths – Hate Morrissey!