Voyage by Numbers

For the sake of brevity, I give you Honolulu to Christmas Island by Numbers.

Days at sea: 12
Days I felt sick: 9
Times my schedule changed*: 3
Repairs made to gaff topsail: 7 (at least)
Emergency drills completed: 0
Signs of life (besides us): 2, one ship on radar, too far away to be seen and a bottle of Tide detergent floating by on the endless ocean.

* I was first assigned to the 12-4 watch, and then to daywork, and then to the 8-12 watch.

All of this made me feel as though I was losing my mind, but life had a way of throwing me a rope when I needed it. The most important of these was the radio. Once I was switched to the 8-12 watch, I was in the perfect position to listen to the Captain's nightly call to the Owner.
At first the radio makes noise: beeping and groaning like R2D2 with a cold, then general static, then the garbled sound of everyone speaking every language in the world all mixed together. All I can see from my seat in the wheelhouse is the warm glow of the charthouse light, and I hear the Captain's voice slow and calm, "Deep Water, Deep Water, Deep Water, this is Kwai, Kwai echo-five-whiskey-bravo." Then from hundreds of miles away the Owner's voice.
What's your position?
How's the exchange rate?
How's the weather?
How's your wife?
Sometimes the Owner is loud and clear, like he's standing in the charthouse. Sometimes he sounds like a theramin taught to speak.
Either way, we are not alone.