a vague scratchiness

I feel the urge coming back, a slow pang, almost unnoticeable at first,

but then I start feeling the presence of something lurking -

I turn and look over my shoulder, but nothing is there.

But it creeps up still, starting at my heels.  It sort of tingles.

I try to stomp the life back into my feet, but it is so futile, vane; it comes on

all the stronger.  (Things become more evident the more you try and ignore them.)

 

It inches its way on up.  I'm a gonner long before, but by the time it makes it all the way

up to my throat and am threatened with asphyxiation, I scream out,

"My goodness, I have got to get the hell out of here

and sail - by God - or I am going to rot in my shoes."

 

After all, my youth is passing--everyday my boat is closer to its watery black grave.  Days don't really ever come back.

 

I have been in a peaceful place, comfortable in my semi-limbic state.  But now, again, I feel that urge gnawing at my cockles.  The time approaches.  Something will happen soon.

Hopefully tomorrow the vane will be ready so I can start the install.  (This will be distracting from "the urge", I hope.)  When that is through I will be on the brink.

Where is Till?  What will happen there?

My family cannot accept the idea of my sailing alone.  If I do go it alone, I am contemplating lying to them so they simply won't freak out.  I will tell them once I reach the Marquesas.

 

(Any feedback on this potential sin would be appreciated.)

 

I don't want it to come to that, but I can't wait forever.  I can't change Til's situation and neither can she.  We are at the mercy of fate.

 

Each day is a day forward.  The last two days I have spent painting the sole (floor) of my cabin.  It was in need.  I have learned how to use a shortwave radio and feel ready to find weather broadcasts offshore.

 

On a more comic note, Brian talked to Genevieve today.

He said that she went into the hospital at last and has recovered from her manic fall.  She doesn't remember much but says she got in tons of fights in San Fran.

She's currently living on a sailboat somewhere south of San Fran.  I am damn tempted to call her and say hello; tell her that I'm not mad with her.  Somehow, I figure it is a bad idea.

I'm so glad she's okay.