T Minus 5 Days

Fear is a living thing. Malevolent and dark, it hides under all of the artificial security constructed by your attempts to convince yourself that all is well. One dark rumor, one unbidden moment of doubt, one fleeting instant of worry, it grows, feeding on the tension created by its stubborn insistence that reality is correct and the cheery vision we use to mask the unpleasant is artificial. Fear knows the end is coming, fear understands. And fear reminds you. I find myself in this horrifying predicament even know.

Last year my wife made me buy a kayak. I have been talking about it for years, and I guess she thought I really wanted one, or that I had any hope of being able to use one competently. Or, maybe she just got tired of listening to the endless drone of my unfulfillable fantasy of being a normal person. I don’t know how anybody can ever have enough of that.

Today, she gave me money, a check, filled out all the paperwork and told me to go register the monster with the state of Ohio. Then, I can use it this weekend. I can put it in the water, and climb on top and float slowly to my death, Charon and me, singing Southern Star as paddle our way across the Reservoir Styx.  

I have watched countless videos on entering and exiting a kayak, paddling, steering, praying for salvation (not really, I haven’t got to that one yet), and I can tell you I will never be able to remember them all.  It is like long division. I might as well try flying an airplane.

So, we have the countdown, T minus 5 days, I can’t join the choir invisible on Saturday, I am participating in the NAMI Charity Walk, (give generously). Sunday is the day.  Sunny, low 80s and no chance of rain. What better day to do something I will regret, almost instantly.

By the way, I am still looking for a name for the kayak. Right now I am leaning towards the Titanic, but am open to suggestions.

Saving Jeff hits a Snag, and Training saves the day.

The latest installment of a story that should have been allowed to die long ago. I would like to say a special thanks to +Mike Raven  for adding the delightful Part 7. It was wonderful, but, Jeff is going to be a little unhappy about the hole in his elbow

(If you haven't read all of the epic Saving Jeff series, don't delay, read now so you don't spoil this episode - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, Part 6, Part 7 and part 8.)

Bob was not used to the TSA screening process. Military transports relied on brutal obedience for security. Needless to say Bob didn't understand bins, belts, and body scanners. 

He was hustled off to a small section cordoned off by screens, and temporary walls. They took his lighter, his bottle opener, and his cork screw. All of which served to anger Bob. But, the thing that really irked him was the callous, caustic disregard. 

When he finally got back to the boat he looked at the Leukocytes and said "I can't believe the way they treat people. Like common criminals. They just assume everybody is guilty. Who do those guys think they are?"

"Don't let it get to you." One of the Leukocytes said. "We have a long way to go. We took another guy up there a while ago. He was like you. A shrunken human. Maybe he can help us find the problem."

Bob relaxed, grabbed a bottle of Sauvignon blanc, and stretched out on the canopy over the cockpit. Only to realize he didn't have a cork screw. In boot camp they had taught him how to open wine in emergency situations, thank God. 

He smashed the bottle on the superstructure of the boat, breaking the top off, and leaving a jagged, razor sharp opening. Drinking deeply without cutting a single nick, he sighed and fell asleep. The bottle stayed upright in his hand and didn't lose a drop. There is no substitute for training.