Having something to read every morning. In many ways. But mostly, my Bible. It’s like I wake up and feel unfulfilled. Then my projects go through my head. And the things I like. They are all good but they feel empty. Then I remember. My Bible! Seriously! Reading it is fulfilling!
So I made my cabinets and trim with only a mother saw and a skill saw. And I’ve figured out quite a few tricks. You can do A LOT with a skill saw. I was worried that I don’t have and can’t get a table saw. But with some engineering and a few aisle conversations at the lumber yard, it didn’t matter. The best part was learning how to make e trim fit when the drywall isn’t flush with the door jamb!! Or, using the skill saw, and sliding it down the back of the trim, at an angle, to route out a big relief in the back of the trim so it can bridge a protrusion. It’s great! Or, getting a perfect, clean, straight cut with the skill saw. It feels good. It’s a whole mindset. Focused and clear.
It was like her. Relentlessly devoted to good. I wondered what it was like as other people caught up to her. Would she feel diminished as she wasn’t in the lead anymore?
Brandon’s boat came with a whole kit of whipping twine. I was always afraid of whipping knots and splicing, but now, oh man. Every role on that boat is going to be custom hand made. It’s just what I needed.
That I started hearing a funny sound. My dad had always taught me to listen to the water. I looked back, and our outboard was dragging behind us, under water, being held by its fuel line. I gently turns forwards and said, almost in a whisper, guys, I need you to come back here, fast. The outboard fell off, and you need to gently pull it back on board. We need it to come in to half moon bay. They literally jumped to the back of he boat while I luffed. We drifted back toward the bridge support as they fished it out of the sea. At within fifty feet of the massive concrete piling, I bared off, filled the sails, and never looked back. I lifted my head and said, that was disappointing. Twenty miles later I remounted the outboard, took a breath, cleared out the carburetor, and started it. Five minutes later and it was rattling away, buzzing the boat with the vigor that only a two stroke brings to a transom.
Do you know what it’s like to live next t someone who hates you? It’s horrible! Every day. You can just feel it. And it drains on you. I’m just a horrible person who deserves to be hated.
Or to be accused of being a pedophile? Soon enough, I started internalizing it. I’m just a horrible pedophile. I should be in prison.
Wait a second.
What if I am a total schizophrenic! If I am, just let me be. The only reason I would be is because my brain split because of something too traumatic to endure. And if so, I DONT WANT TO KNOW!!!!
I realized the backstay wasn’t tuned properly, the traveler was rigged funky, the topping lift was about to split to pieces, there was no foreguy (in multiple ways), the reefing lines were obnoxious, and our jib halyard had a big tear in it. My heart sunk. I had vision. And I knew the boat wasn’t perfect. I knew what it could be. But in that moment, I was a little scared.
Once she was berthed in her new home harbor, which, actually, was her real home, I did what I love. I fixed the boat. First I fixed the backstay. No self respecting boat should have a loose backstay. It just doesn’t leave you feeling like the mast is supported. And a 32 foot mast must be supported. Next I re ran the line for the traveler. Someone had put the mount on backwards. Now the traveler, a $200 piece, that didn’t work, worked like brand new! This is what I had envisioned when I talked Brandon into getting it with me. Next, I did away with the funky red and green reefing lines. If you can’t remember which line is which, you shouldn’t be sailing the boat. And red, green, blue and white, just don’t mix. Then a new foreguy. Then I used the old foreguy for the traveler. And a little patch on the job halyard, with memories if watching a heart surgeon gracefully sew his halyard back together with the touch of a new father. Lastly, my favorite detail, my Santa Cruz yacht club burgy. Oh and of course new pull lines for the shackles and getting rid of the frayed webbing. Ohhhh. That is my favorite thing to do! I LOVE THAT BOAT! It’s like good to go 2.0.
It felt like I could feel her. Like I knew what she was feeling. It was either complete dementia, or something else.
If we did end up together, it would just make sense! But it would be so bizarre, because all of these crazy things happened. But, I prayed for it. And if it ends well, who cares!!!
I had realized, this wasn’t about the boat. Or even sailing. It was about Brandon. We always got along great but we didn’t have something to do together!!! I have known him since I was 4. Me Alex and Brandon. They had tons of other friends but we also always did things together.
As gusts hit us and the boat either healed hard upwind or veered across wave faces downwind. I knew what needed to happen. The poor little boat was being pushed by aerodynamic and hydrodynamic forces that were beyond the rudder and the keels ability to counter. If it was an airplane, We were flying at full speed with our flaps and landing gear down. We needed to get the flaps back up so our wings could do their job and fly. But no one else on the boat knew what to do. So I just sat there, waiting for the whole situation to balance out. They didn’t understand. They just made fun of me.
It was like my growth into a real man. I knew I wasn’t balancing. It was work hard, play hard, rest hard. What about live with grace? So when a big break came, I decided to just sit until I balanced out. No matter what happened. And it took quite a long time. These things of the mind, neuropathologies, they have deep roots.
People get into these modes where they “don’t get it”. And there’s nothing you can do but get Space from them until they come around. They may be the first phase of grieving. Denial.
To Stacey. I knew she was mourning something. And I antagonized her for some reason. I thought it would push her to grieve and move forwards. But then I experienced the same thing. And it definitely made sense.
After Sean died every one told me he was schizophrenic. And that really hurt more! Because he had been my best and most trusted friend for the last six years and I believed what he told me. But it turns out some of it may have been fantasy. But I had to think, does that mean I am schizophrenic? But I think, by definition. I couldn’t be if I knew I was.
It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone. Me. His friends. His parents. Everyone who called the police, including me. And it’s no one fault! Not mine. Not his. Not his parents. Not the police. We are all doing the best we can!!!
Seriously. I’m feeling greedy. My whole idea of me and my relation to the world has changed. And I want to make some money. I do. I want to let go of that. I just need enough. But I just went for a drive at 5 and saw all the super greedy getting home, snickering at each other, racing the streets, trying to be on top. Ohhh. I want to be back under that mist with the golden bridge neatly placed between those two rocks. Ahhh! This doesn’t feel good. I was in this whole fantasy sort of and it’s disappearing. I guess that’s necessary. But what on earth is going to happen? Will this all be ok. I think it could be. What if Stacey does want to talk but she doesn’t want to be in Santa Cruz? I honestly don’t really want to be here any more but all my life is here. But this place is getting nuts. Has it always been like this? Will I have to move on to someone else if she doesn’t want to live here? Is she ok?
I wanted a boat so I could take people on epic adventure across the bay. But now, I couldn’t care less. It made me sick. Was this really what I needed? What if this is the wrong path?!