Squirrels on a boat

Living and working on a boat for five weeks straight sounds like a grand adventure full of danger and excitement....to the people who have never done it before.  Okay, so flying in a helicopter to get to your job is pretty cool.  Beyond that, the main challenges of living and working on a boat and staring at the water every day don't go too far beyond the mental battle between french fries or salad for dinner.  Rough seas?  Meh, a minor inconvenience when you're trying to take a shower or eat a bowl of soup.  Pirates?  Thankfully not a problem (to my knowledge) in the Gulf of Mexico.  Capsizing?  The boat I'm on at the moment is 81 meters long by 18 meters wide, so it'd take a leeeeeeetle more than your typical winter weather to tip this bucket over.  Fires?  Food shortages?  Scurvy?  Nope, nope, and nope.  There is safety equipment everywhere you turn and more than enough food to go around.  The crews on seismic vessels typically sleep in cozy, carpeted cabins in a temperature-controlled environment amid wireless internet, satellite TV, movie theaters, gyms, saunas, and sometimes even swimming pools.  No my friends, the most dangerous, terrifying phenomena I have experienced in my 1.5 years working offshore are (cue scary music):

SQUIRRELS.

Yes, you heard me right, I said squirrels.  

Let me explain.  A few years ago, my friend's brother said, "A woman's brain is like a squirrel trapped in a cage with its tail caught on fire."  I couldn't agree more.  I find this analogy oddly comforting...when I catch myself getting overly worried or upset about something silly, I just blame it on the squirrel.  It's a good way to explain the touch of psycho over-analyzing that all of us women do, whether we're willing to admit it or not.  So, if you're reading this and getting worked up and offended, guess what...IT'S ONLY YOUR SQUIRREL.  See, doesn't that feel better?

Unfortunately, once you're stuck in the middle of the sea with nothing around for miles but water and more water, recognizing and effectively controlling a rogue squirrel attack is next to impossible.  If there's something nagging in the back of your mind while you're on land, it will get ten times worse when your only plan for the day is to stare at the horizon while your squirrel chatters and rattles the bars of its cage, overthinking, overanalyzing, and occasionally freaking out completely.  Perfectly normal emails from loved ones seem confusingly sinister.  Sarcastic comments from coworkers get twisted into personal attacks that make you want to crawl back into bed for the rest of the day.  Once the evil squirrel has gotten his pointy little claws into your brain, no thought is safe.

Don't get me wrong, I am typically a calm, happy-go-lucky person, and I can't remotely pretend that living on a well-equipped boat full of interesting people is anywhere near the mental toll of something like solo sailing around the world.  Some of the people I know have spent entire YEARS at sea.  But, the occasional squirrel attack on board, when you really start to question if the thoughts in your head are even your own to begin with, is by far the hardest thing I've had to deal with out here.

Luckily I've gotten better at recognizing a fired-up squirrel and keeping it somewhat tamed with cheesy heartwarming movies (Love Actually is a good one).  But, until next time....