With my last entry I’m sure I disappointed some who were expecting something juicy about a nefarious encounter with the fairer sex. Though I have plenty of stories hidden away to make the most open-minded people blush, this affair has to do with someone special that I’ve written about a few times before. I figured I’d revisit my thoughts and share them with the bored and easily captivated crowd reading random blogs on a Sunday night.
I’ll cut to the chase… Her name again… Turtle. Turtle Sloop to be exact. The sea slug of sailboats. Fat, Heavy and a little too tender for winds above 10 knots. That being said, there was nothing quite like the feeling I’d get when I’d step outside after a long night of being anchored out in the Puget Sound. Aside from the times of regret of not being aware of what I ate before a venture out into the high seas… err I mean inland waters, There’s not much that can compare. Maybe sex… Maybe flying… Maybe Key Lime Pie…
As I was sitting on the crapper tonight, I was pondering how the fuck I got myself here. My bathroom may very well be as big, if not bigger, than the whole living area on my boat. Some may ask me how I didn’t feel claustrophobic or like a prisoner.
What’s crazy is that the more space I end up having in my living quarters, the more closed off I feel. It was a crazy idea to think that the only real barrier to me not taking off without looking back was a few dock lines and a power cord. Sans the fact that my boat probably wouldn’t survive the open water for long, I literally could go anywhere I want. I’d figure out ways to survive. Fish, hunt, beg… My story would begin. The book would write itself and I would be known as the guy that no one knew because he never stayed.
Even when cozied up in the marina, Turtle was my escape. Every single day. My foot pump sink and musty sleeping berth humbled me. I couldn’t imagine having anything else. Now, I have two faucets in my bathroom and a microwave that doesn’t fall off the wall when it gets windy. What the fuck do I do with two faucets?
I could get teary-eyed thinking about what Turtle did for me… and still does. My story can’t end here. Not like this. There’s more to life than being annoyed at the fact that my cell service doesn’t work in my apartment parking garage.