I've been living in the boatyard for nearly two weeks. It's loud, commercial, full of marine poison finishes, spray paints, epoxies, glass fibers and other toxic substances. I've been up to my elbows in paint for days. I've ruined most of my clothes. It feels like living in a sort of post apocalyptic junkyard, complete with dead birds, mangy dogs and rowdy tenants. Between materials, haul out, launching and blocking (putting the boat on stilts), it's cost me an arm and a leg.

I tried sailing to Stock Island a second time on Wednesday. The small craft advisory that went into effect Monday was still in place. The wind was blowing around twenty and the seas were very rough. I'd never been out sailing in this area under conditions like that. The water didn't look like waves at all, but more like the deep, angry claw marks of some giant beast. Each wave was some six feet tall and they were positioned one right after the other so that the boat pitched up then down continuously at what seemed like thirty to forty degrees.

In waking life I lie down to sleep and begin having stress dreamlets. Tiny little dreams wherein I'm placed in some absurd, stressful situation that lasts only a moment and then wakes me into a fright. Then another one instantly over and over. Like a type of torture. This has never happened to me.

I'm returning Charlie the dog to Josh's house, and I'm really stressed because Charlie has to shit and is about to shit on the stairs and I have to be somewhere and I don't know if Josh is home. Awake.

Key West, FL. Change of plans. I've opted to forgo the trip to Central America. Gil will be sailing with a friend (a celestial navigation enthusiast) to Key West once his boat is complete. From there he will be looking to pick up a crew for the trip beyond. I arrived here in Key West two nights ago by bus. I went out with friends Friday night to meander around downtown and dance to some funk music, then caught a ride back to Jordan's Ghost late yesterday.

First arrive at my boat where Brielle is asleep. The boat is big and super clean and I talk about not selling and sailing instead. Randy is there and messing with a phone. Then I'm on a bus to Costa Rica with Jordan. He doesn't have a ton of money and has left on a whim. We're in the bus and it is overcast.

We stop at a cafe for coffee, or at least I do (Jordan doesn't want anything) and gets some water to take some pills. They are antidepressants or something similar.

At a marina somewhere. Worried about my motor (on the boat, which actually blew something today) and trying to get it fixed. I think I am awake, then do some mental tests to assess. It turns out I'm not.

I begin searching for Jordan's Ghost, approaching first a man in a sort of office. He sends me across the marina to speak with a different woman in a different office. Everything is very clear and I'm able to look at my hands with ease.

Hablan Espanol en El Salvador?

Si. Claro. Y Usted? Habla usted Espanol?

Si, un poco, pero yo tengo que aprender mas.

La mayoria de gente en Florida hablan Espanol, no?

Talvez no la mayoria, pero es verdad que mucha gente lo hablan. Porque hay mucha gente de Cuba alli.