From Bike Star to Boat Star

As slowly as my bike tour began, it's end came rather quick. I shouldn't say end. There were still numerous countries to visit by bike. I was lured away on a major detour by the chance to full fill a lifelong dream of saltwater and sails. Yes, that's right. My professional sailor friend, Tim who picked me up hitch hiking offered to take me sailing. I was so excited! I left the group (who I think may have been a little jealous of my plans) and rode my bike down to Bristol where I sat and drank espresso as I waited for Tim to come and pick me up. He eventually arrived around 3:00 or so and made all the usual loving jests at my crazy biking lifestyle. We packed up the bike and headed for Newport, Rhode Island where we'd be staying the night. When I made plans to go sailing it totally made since because I thought we'd be sailing out of Newport. The rest of the group was heading to Boston and then we were to meet up on Saturday in New Hampshire. New Hampshire is far enough away from Newport as it is, but we weren't sailing out of Newport. We were sailing out of Rye, New York.
OH.
As we set sail out of the Yacht Club (yeah, a yacht club - my life is lived in polar opposite extremes) I got a view of the beautiful NYC skyline and had an overwhelming feeling of going backwards. How in the hell did I get all the way back where I started? The real guilt set in when I realized that I would probably not meet back up with my new family until Florida. I've been having a really hard time with this, but I couldn't find another solution that made since.
The group was heading to Montreal in a week and I could not legally accompany them for reasons I don't care to mention here. As open as I am, I'm just not gonna go there. So once I realized that I definitely couldn't join them to Montreal, and having a free ride back to New York, I decided to take the easiest route. If I were to make Timmy drive me all the way back to New Hampshire, I would then have to turn around a week later and get a train back to the city when they crossed the border.
So there I was, sitting at a Bed and Breakfast in Greenwich, CT which is the nation's richest zip code while my fellow bikers were hanging out at some super cool musician's collective in Boston. Where did I go wrong? One choice to take a few days of yuppiness ended my North East tour. As I sat there in that Bed and Breakfast in the yuppy town full of European hunting clothes shops and Mazarati dealers, I wished that I were sleeping on the dirty floor of some musician's apartment. I realized that this yuppy shit was boring. Never again would I leave my fellow riders for the dark side.
Now, as you know by now I'm a little dramatic in my writings. I like to make jokes. In no way shape or form is hanging out with my friend Tim the dark side. He's awesome. In fact, we enjoyed making fun of all the rich people he works for. I'm thankful for this experience and especially thankful for the opportunity to go sailing. It was really a beautiful experience. We sailed out of Rye and into Long Island Sound and the weather was PERFECT. Tim's bestfriend, Ben and his soon to be EXquazigirlfriend accompanied us. This made for some interesting dynamics. Thirty minutes into the trip we were three bottles of wine down with six more to go. This is when we realized that we were going to get totally SHIPfaced. Yes, I am a dork. By the time we made it across the sound we were six bottles deep and the sun was beginning to set. We moored the boat at some other yacht club and watched the sun go down. Then we went into the cab, ate cheese and bread and polished off the other three bottles of wine while playing "spoons." Whoever lost a hand had to shot gun a beer which I hadn't done since high school and which probably took things a little over the top. We proceeded to have a dance party on the deck as loudly as possible so that if anyone was sleeping they were definitely not anymore because what's a party without waking up and pissing off a bunch of yachters?
Our enthusiasm for drinking eventually fizzled away when Emma, Ben's soon to be EXquazigirlfriend, got mad, seriously mad, because she lost spoons and Tim fell asleep sitting up beer in hand. This was the moment where I put down the last half full glass of wine I was nursing and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up way too early, had some coffee and cheese, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again at a much more decent hour like 1 PM we set sail even though Ben was still in between napping and puking over the side of the boat. After we set sail I went to the front of the boat and took my second nap of the day because I realized there's not a whole lot else you can do on a sailboat.
I woke up again an hour later feeling worse than I did before the nap. Soon Ben came to life just before we pulled back into the yacht club from which we came. We made the necessary arrangements for the boat then headed for the Bed and Breakfast in Connecticut.
This was when the guilt really set in. This was where my longing to be back on the bike with my new family really started to overwhelm me. This was where I wished I had a better attitude about things in general. This was where I got on the internet and found out that there was a Landmark Forum beginning the next day in NYC. I've heard that they are life changing. And since my bike tour wouldn't be doing anymore life changing for the moment, what better way to use my time off than a little bit of attitude adjusting? Unfortunately, registration was already closed. I tried to weasel my way in but to no avail. The attitude adjusting would have to come later.
Whenever and where ever it took place, it had to happen. It needed to happen because I didn't feel OK about the things I was doing and I didn't know why. Nothing was ever good enough for myself. This started happening when I realized that my dreams weren't coming true and all of my confidence was set on those dreams of what I thought I would some day be. Believe it or not, I am an eternal optimist. I still believe that I can accomplish these dreams - mainly the dream of finally making a name for myself in the music industry. I still believed I could do this - but not with the current attitude that had come creeping into my way of thinking.
To make matters worse the supposed flea attack I experienced in Providence had evolved into a full blown explosion of poison oak in THE one place you don't want poison oak. And it spread all down my legs.
I was in a sensitive place and I didn't know how to work my way out of it. My insides were screaming for change and my outsides were begging to be scratched. My ego was unhappy with the progress I was making in my career. The real zinger: I knew the mental dialogue that needed to take place. I knew I needed to tell myself that (A) - this whole idea of success was just an american bred psychosis that I should do my best to heal, and (B) - Don't fucking scratch it! I knew all of this, but knowing didn't dampen the desire for success nor scratching. Both were deep rooted in my soul. I wanted it. What do you do when you have a desire so deep inside your heart that no self help book can talk you out of? There was only one answer that came to mind: You go out and get it... and scratch it. I scratched it. I scratched it all. I couldn't help it. It felt so good. In fact, if I ever have children and that moment comes when they ask me what an orgasm is, I will tell them that it is like scratching a really bad itch.
Thankfully this was exactly what I was doing.
All of the anxiety wore off with the physical, mental and spiritual hangover I had incurred from the week's overdose of red wine. Within a few days of being back in New York I was confident that I had made the right decision in all matters of my being (except the scratching) and promised myself that the next time I had a really bad hangover, I wouldn't lock myself in a Bed and Breakfast and ponder my life's worth. I would go... maybe do some shopping, or see a movie. You know, something that wouldn't drive me crazy.
Yeah.
The scratching was a different story. At one point I managed to go an entire day of throbbing itchiness with out scratching... UNTIL I GOT IN THE SHOWER. Upon feeling the hot water beat itself directly into the most terribly affected areas I literally had to brace myself on the tile wall as I groaned with pleasure. I couldn't take it anymore. I went crazy. Obviously this did not help at all. After a total of ten days of trying to talk myself out of scratching and failing miserably, I finally went to the doctor. He gave me steroids and some weird creamy stuff and by the end of the day it became bearable to live in my skin again.