I’m no expert on why our modern culture measures the calendar year the way it does. There’s clearly a pagan influence at the heart of our holidays and seasonal markers, but we’re not gonna be wading into those muddy waters today. This is just a quick post to let you all know that I’ve been privy to witness an event that’s unambiguously verifiable, scientifically quantifiable, and unequivocally undeniable in the demarcation of the official Summer Season…
The S.S. BonerFruit’s on the water!!! Woo!!
3 months of fiberglassing, plumbing, drilling, and fumbling have finally reached an ever so sweet conclusion. And the best part is no water is dribbling into the hull. At the moment, my baby’s drier than a popcorn fart (I fucking hate that expression, but that one goes out to you Scott).
When I first got this boat, I lost a full season on the water because of that bullshit fake virus scare, so it sat on the hard for over a full year, and when I finally got her launched, I noticed leaks in the cockpit thru hulls. Apparently 50 year old sealant tends to dry out and crack when denied the water for too long. Who’d a fucking thunk it….
But I got lucky on the timing of it all, since there were no other launches after mine that day. I was allowed a good 12 hours to let my boat hang unnervingly on the lift while I effected repairs. Something about working directly underneath a 5000 pound hunk o’ fiberglass and waterlogged wood quickly gets the brain frenzied with thoughts of being smooshed like a homeless hippie pancake.
So needless to say, when I drilled 3 new thru hulls this year for the head and sink, I definitely had some flashbacks to my earlier terrors of water geysering into the boat. In fact, my obsessive brain wouldn’t stop churning for the next 2 weeks before launch, obsessively playing out every unwelcome scenario in the event of a breach.
As much as I preach about dealing with issues as they present themselves, and not worrying about controlling the uncontrollable, I nevertheless rode a wave of low-level stress that percolated in my head like a shitty cup of lukewarm joe, facilitating an increasingly irritable demeanor in my naturally charming personality.
What? Me irritable? Impossible you say, I know…
Launch day finally arrived. I checked and double checked every system and seacock, and prepared for the worst. As the boat slowly descended from the lift and touched water, I frantically ran around inside to check for leaks and dribbles.
This time though, the worst never happed. It seemed my unskilled, make-shit-up-as-I-trudge-through-life craftsmanship was immaculate. Nothin’ left to do but motor to my dock.
The new folding prop spun me out nicely, and although I couldn’t hear my electric drive running because of the blustery wind (and had to check my display several times to make sure it was engaged), I putted gingerly to good ol’ dock A10, and lashed my baby up nice and tight, ready to enjoy a bottle of slushy champagne that my alcoholic fisherman friend kindly bought for me to smash off the bow. (Cheers, cunt!).
And now summer begins. With only 10,000 things or less on my to-do list before ocean travel, I’m happy as fuck.
Life is an experience best enjoyed one moment at a time. Worrying about the future and all the shit you’ll never be able to control is a fantastic waste of time. Relish the moments you have, and trust me when I say that the petty stresses and grievances that dominate your waking mind are simply not worth your energy.
Savour the day, motherfuckers, and maybe I’ll see you out there, somewhere, on the big blue sea, bailing water out of my cockpit, haha.
Peace out!