The Future.

Three years. I have to make it three more years. Three years of living in Las Vegas, the stupid hot summers, dusty windy winters, constant construction, and twenty-four-hour whatever you want. It's been eight, so it's less than half the time I've been here already, and when you look at it that way it's much more survivable.

It's not that I hate Vegas any more. It's grown on me. It's like a mole that you hate when you're young, cos everyone makes fun of it. Then you grow up, realize that those people don't really matter, and accept the mole as a part of who you are. I'm accepting now that Vegas is a part of who I am, and I don't really mind it too much.

It's just a matter of getting out before the Vegas mole metastases.

But I have a plan to get out. Actually, this week I'm signing a contract to get out. And as a result of that contract, and money paid, Sometime in July of 2015, I'm going to be a part of a crew on a round-the-world yacht race. It hits six of seven continents, ten boats, eleven months, fifteen ports of call, and about 450 crew over the course of the race.

I've known about the race for a little over a year. But about six weeks ago, out of the blue, I said fuck it, and decided instead of talking about the race, I was going to do it. Emailed the recruiter to arrange a time to talk about the race while I was in the UK, but instead of just talking, I actually went in and did the interview. Got accepted. Come pay day, I'm sending off some money, along with the signed contract, and that's my life for the next four years sorted out. No more buying computers, or cameras, or rounds of drinks, cos all the money is going to the race. It's expensive. But I'm at the point where I feel like I can't afford to NOT do the race. I need a kick in the arse. I need a challenge. I need to get the shit kicked out of me as only the Northern Pacific Ocean can do. I need to go away for eleven months, get out of my comfort zone, out of my rut, and see more of the world-- at least the wet parts of it.

So for now, that's what's going on. At some point, I might ask you for money. It's expensive. But I won't ask just yet. Right now, I'm just letting you know if you want to visit Vegas while I'm here, you got three years. And if you're already here, then we'll hang out at some point. But three years is it. Then I'm gone.

Preparation

I've been doing this all wrong. I keep thinking about the things I'm doing, and how they're a means to an end, a path to take to go where I want to go, but that's not the case. I used to know that, but somewhere along the way I forgot.

Working on ships, it used to piss me off no end when people sad 'what happens on ships stays on ships,' and claim that it wasn't real life out there. I always refused to take that point of view, because if you're spending nine bloody months out there, that's a good chunk of life that I'm not ready to write off. Admittedly, a lot of the shit you can get up to seems surreal, like you're living someone else's life. You can cram a lot of experiences into a short time on a ship, and looking back it sometimes doesn't seem real, but you can't qualify a part of life as not real. I used to know that.

Well, I'm getting back onto that train of thought. The past couple of years, I've been talking about becoming a writer. I've talked about leaving Las Vegas. I've talked about living on a sailboat. I've talked about travelling more. And the whole time, it's as though I've been waiting for something. I've been preparing for when I'm a writer. I've been getting ready for when I live on a sailboat. And I need to stop doing that.

I'll leave Vegas one day. I'll do all the things I talk about, because, hell, I'll never live it down if I don't. I expect each and every one of you to give me a full serving of shit if I fall short in anything I intend to do. But I've been bumming around thinking that what I'm doing right now is preparation, and doesn't really count. I got a cheap sailboat, not because I like the boat, but because I'm getting ready, learning all I can, for the day I can finally move aboard a bigger one, and cast off. I'm preparing for the future by doing this now. But when you keep doing that, you forget that now is part of your life too. None of us get enough time to live, and if you spend too much time looking ahead, you miss chunks. So the boat, the writing and editing I'm doing that is preparing me to be an author, sure, it's all preparation. But I'm enjoying it. I'm already doing things that a lot of people never do. And while I'm doing them with the express intention of moving on to bigger and better things, I'm going to try not to lose sight of the fact that I'm a third of the way through the final edit of my first novel, which already makes me a writer. I'm spending weekends out at the marina, working on the 23' Ranger sailboat that's mine, which already makes me a sailor. The preparation for what I want to become, what I want to do, has already got me there. And I almost didn't notice.

The Beach

The past couple of days I spent time on Catalina Island, and in Laguna Beach. Went out there with a friend from work to do some SCUBA diving, and generally relax. Our third dive was on Thursday, and afterwards we sat on the beach in Laguna and waited while our dive master went back in to find one of his integrated weights that had slipped out during the dive. It gave me enough time to get sunburned, and do a little bit of thinking.

The last time I did a similar trip was five years ago. I'd been in Vegas just over a year, and a friend of mine from ships came down for the diving and relaxing. We had a bit of a history. I'd met her on ships, and at the time she wasn't interested because my contract would be up soon. But I left the ship, and we kept in touch by letter (she was on the cruise line's private island, sans internet or phone). We found out we actually did like each other. Quite a bit.

We visited each other a few times, and the relationship she hadn't allowed to happen while we were living and working in the same place did happen, after a fashion, when time and distance allowed. The last time was in California, diving and relaxing in Catalina and Laguna. I drove out with her after work, slept in the car, caught the first ferry and dove all day, then went back to the mainland. Crashed with a friend of hers, then spent the next day wandering around Laguna, doing coupley things. I bought a couple of shirts that she said looked hot on me. I still have them, although time won't allow me to wear one of them any more. I keep it in the hopes that one day someone else will say it looks hot on me. I'm not holding my breath. . .except for when I put that shirt on.

My mind wasn't in the right place at the time. I couldn't give her what she needed or wanted, and I didn't know what I wanted. But a lot has changed in the past five years, both with me and with her. I wouldn't say I exactly know what I want, but I do know what I'm open for now. Back then I'd just bought a condo, and had a five year plan. Now I'm beginning short sale procedures, and I have a different five year plan. Back then she came down to see if things might work between us. Now, she just gave birth to her second child. I actually went to her wedding, and have a terrible feeling that I didn't send her the disc of photos I took.

I posted a few pictures on the social networking site that I will not name, for fear that their privacy policy changes again and any mention of them entitles them to take ownership of any content on said page. But I posted a picture of Avalon Harbour, and she commented on it. So Jealous. I don't take this to mean that she would trade places with me, or she's unhappy in her life-- far from it, she's got two great kids and a bloke who looks after her well. But if she's jealous of my being in Catalina, am I jealous of her having a happy family life?

Juries still out on that one. Had things happened differently, would we have the happy family life and have been in Catalina together this past week? That sort of question's just not worth asking, again cos of crazy. I've lived countless lifetimes in my mind, some with her, some with others I've loved, and some with people I barely know. I've been single for six years, and in that time I've been married a thousand times, had hundreds of children, and been mourned by all those wives and family members. Scary, huh?

But I've been thinking that maybe it's the imagination I'm relying on to help me have a career as an author that's screwing me up in my personal life. If I'm living all those lifetimes in my mind, creating possible and potential scenarios, and thinking too much about what to say or do instead of just letting things happen, I'm stopping myself from actually living. One life lived is better than thousands imagined. So from now on I'm going to stop. The lives I imagine won't be for myself, they'll be for my characters. I won't think about the woulda shoulda couldas. I'll focus on what's going to happen next, and I won't be scared by it any more.

Motivation Pt. III

This month has been productive for me so far. I finished building a set, opened the show, grilled for twenty people, started re-doing my 3000-piece jigsaw puzzle, ran a console twice, and have written almost thirteen thousand words, spread out over three projects. Four, if you include blogging as a project. There's something else, but that's private. And the best thing is, the month's not even half-way. I'm looking at my original goal of twenty thousand words for the month, and thinking I should shoot for thirty thousand. I mean, why not? Why stop when it seems to be coming right now, the characters are just setting themselves up for the situations and conversations they've been having?

I'm not going to knock it. I'm not going to stop and ask why I've all of a sudden got this burst of motivation, because as soon as you wonder if the motivation is going to stick around, it buggers off.

This blog entry is more a reminder to people to not stop. You can take a break, pause by all means, but don't do what I've been doing for years. Don't make any excuses, cos they're all bullshit. You know it, too. There's a quote from Nelson Mandela that I have up on my bedroom wall, and while I make no pretenses that my goals are as noble or lofty as his, it can speak to everyone:

"I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet done."

While my use of the quote is pretty selfish, and I see freedom as freedom for myself than a whole country, it's good to remember that we're all headed somewhere. Maybe Vegas is just a place I've stopped for a while, to catch my breath and enjoy the view, but it sure as hell isn't the place I'm headed to. There's no freedom here for someone like me. And right now the view is my motivation. Looking back, seeing where I've been and how far I've travelled, and looking forward, seeing what's in store, is the best muse a person could ask for. Because you're all there, and I can see the whole world from up here.

obsession

I have a healthy tendency to obsess about things. I say it's healthy, because it's how I've manages to get where I am today. I obsessed about working on cruise ships while I was in University, and two months after graduation I signed on for my first contract. I then obsessed about working for Cirque Du Soleil, and two years later I moved to Las Vegas and started working at New York New York. I've become obsessed with being a writer, earning a living doing it, and I'm chipping away at that too with novels and screenplays and short stories underway. And now I have a new obsession. It's been about a week now, and it probably has a little to do with watching the DVD of my 24th birthday last week, and some of what's going on financially in my world right now (that's a whole 'nother blog). But basically, I've become fixated on living on a boat. My own yacht. Nothing too guady or ostentatious, but no floating bathtub either.

It just sounds ideal for where I am in my life right now, or rather in a couple of years once I have a writing income. I know that's assuming a lot, but if I don't aim for it then I won't get there. But living in Vegas for over six years, I feel a little trapped. I'm trapped by the mountains that ring us on all sides, and the dirty ceiling of smog. There's still too much for me to go and see and do in the world, and living a 5 work-days-a-week isn't cutting it for me. I want to sail through the islands of Puget Sound and catch my salmon for to grill. I want to sail back through the Panama Canal, and actually set foot in South America rather than be yards away and still not there. I want to go to Galapagos and dive with the schooling scalloped hammerheads. And I want to do it all on my terms, in my time.

And it's the perfect time for me. I'm young enough that it still seems like a great idea. I'm also young enough to be able to forgo some of the things we take for granted in our daily lives, rough it a bit. I'm single, with emotional attachments that would for sure be tested with prolonged absences, but that's been the story of my life so far and those friendships I still have are all the better for it. I'm old enough that I won't just jump into it without doing the proper research and preparation. I'm old enough to know that it's not as glamorous as most people might think. And I'm old enough that I've done a lot of things that were goals as I was growing up, so I'm in search of new goals.

My opaternal grandfather was a fisherman, and my matyernal great-grandfather was a fisherman. Or maybe great-great, I'm not a hundred percent on that. My father was in the British Merchant Navy after school, and that's partly why I worked on cruise ships, to fulfill some sort of perceived familial obligation. But it's more than that, I realize now. There's something terrifying and fascinating between me and the Ocean. It scares the crap out of me, with its changeable moods and bewitching peace. It's a healthy obsession to have because it's seventy percent of the planet's surface. And wherever you go on it, you're linked to everywhere else.

So I shall live on a boat. I'm giving myself five years to achieve this goal, and I'll definitely be talking about it again as I head towards it. Five years. I'm obsessed.

I've already got a name picked out.

Memory. . .

. . .all alone in the moonlight, I can smile at the old days. . .nah, screw Cats. I was going through the stack of disks that I have in my office. Some are labelled, most are not. There are CD's and DVD's, not all of them play, and it has become my life's work to work out what is on all of them. Half way through one of the piles, I found one labelled 'Amazing Grace, January 2004.'

I don't remember if I've talked about my 24th birthday before on here, so forgive me if I bore you with the details. I was still working on cruise ships at the time, and it was towards the end of my contract on the MS Zuiderdam. That's right, the contract I got put on the corporate blacklist for Holland America Cruise Lines after. Anyway. A group of us, the people I hung out with most during that contract, decided that for my birthday we should rent a sail boat. So as soon as we could, eleven of us got off the ship with a bunch of coolers, and headed to the rental place. Our boat was a 42-foot Catalina 42mkII 3-cabin yacht. Not something you'd take 11 people on for an extended cruise, but for a day it was perfect. Getting away from everyone, disappearing for a few hours where no-one could reach us was perfect. We drank beer and snacked, sunbathed, got naked and splashed about in the water, snorkelled, and stopped caring about the world for a while.

The memories I have from that day are some of my fondest. It's almost definitely my favourite birthday so far, which is funny cos no one does anything special for their twenty-fourth. The disk had a short video of the day on it, so I popped it in my computer to watch. It was exactly how I remember it, with Jurgen narrating over cheesy music he'd added. Alec and TC by the wheel, Katie rapping, Mel sticking out her tongue at the camera. Ben and Audrey, Dom and Jessica.

My memory of the day is better. When I remember the day, I can conjure up how I felt that day, and out myself into the situation better. Watching the video, all I could think of is how many of the people who figured in my favourite birthday have fallen by the wayside. I'm in touch with a few through Facebook, but I'm not close with any of them any more, especially Mel, who I haven't talked to since my twenty-fifth birthday when she randomly called me as though we hadn't been through a completely shitty break-up. I've tried to say hi to Dom and Jessica when I've gone to LA or they've come to Vegas, but there's nothing but silence form them. I couldn't even tell you what became of Ben.

The thing is, none of that matters. Watching the video didn't steal the memory from me, I'm still going to look back on it fondly. I still want to take a vacation one day, three couples on a yacht in the Caribbean for a week. The memories give me dreams, goals, and no matter what happened between us, I'm still grateful to the people who were there for helping build those memories.

It's the same thing with my friends in Portland, Oregon. They aren't the same people I spent a year in Austria with. They aren't the same people who shared stories about their first blowjobs (on a back alley in Florence from a chick called Di 'like the princess' as she told him), or got chased by drunken Frenchmen with (bottle of Jack between the four of us), or walked around one of the most famous sites from antiquity with hangovers with (who knew Delphi had such cheap wine and an awesome dance club? It's in the middle of the mountains!). They've all moved on, and I'm not saying I haven't, but they've all settled down, started families. When I was in Oregon in June I realized it, but they're still with my friends despite the diapers and dribble in their lives. Finding video of friendships I don't really have any more makes me treasure the memory more, because I can't reminisce about the memory with anyone that was there. I can always talk to about head if I wanted to, because we are still friends. Until he reads this, that is. The video and my memory I have of Tortola, where we rented Amazing Grace for the day, will always be how I remember it because there's no one I can talk to who can fill in the gaps I may have developed over time.

So is it the friendship that's important, or the memories? The only answer I have is a cop out. It depends on the friendship, and it depends on the memories. Friends are important at the time to create the memories, but sometimes it's the memories that get you through the droughts.

breaking up

getting back from a trip away is a lot like breaking up. You're left with a period of depression, of not knowing what to do with yourself. There's laundry to be done and the house to be straightened up, as if it magically got rearranged while you were away. You feel tired. Your friends all ask how it was, but you don't really want to talk about it. You find yourself with less money than before it started. And then you start planning your next one.

I got back Monday morning, and I'm already looking into going away again, but this time somewhere I really want to go; I wanted to go to Oregon the past few trips, but I'd much rather have gone somewhere further afield that I'm not so familiar with. For October, I'm looking into Europe.

Originally I wanted it to be a full three week trip, but as part of the whole I'm-thirty-now-and-need-to-be-a-bit-more-responsible thing, I'm actually acknowledging that I can't afford that, so it looks like it'll just be the British Isles. Scotland with the parents and grandfather, London with a couple of friends who live there and I haven't seen in years, and Ireland with another friend who I haven't seen in years.

My vacation time is very precious to me, and I don't get enough, but finally after six years with MGM Mirage, I'm on three weeks vacation, so of course I want to make the most of it. But another part of the sensible thing I'm trying, is that maybe I should start going to writing conventions. I should start networking, meeting people in the industry, and using up my precious vacation time to work on never needing vacation time. Most people I know who are in an industry go to the conventions as and when they can. My problem is that I wouldn't really go to listen to other people as much as I should. I write what I want, rather than what I think people want. I'd go to them and not really care much about the speakers unless it was someone I was a fan of. I don't know if I'd get anything out of going to one.

That's probably exactly why I should go. It's all very well typing away, and letting a couple people read what I'm beating out of the keyboard, but I should probably throw myself into it more than I already have, and by it I mean the industry. I should buy the books, listen to the podcasts, go to the conventions, sign up for the periodicals. I just want to keep myself happy with the illusion that writing isn't work, even after I get paid to do it. I want to see it as a treat, as theatre used to be and ceased to be a while ago.

So to use my coveted vacation time to do that? We'll see how I'm doing once I get book one back. Maybe it's time to look into it, put myself out there. Because if I do, then I have the potential to be a serial monogamist. I can go from vacation to vacation, writing all the while, and never having to go through the break-up period of malaise and frustration that I'm in right now.

BuyPolar

Anyone who knows me knows I have a tendency to be up and down. I'll be on top of the world one minute, and completely pissy the next for no apparent reason. This can lead to many stupid things done or said, and I think about a quarter of my life is comprised of apologizing for another quarter of it. I'm blaming it all on my star sign. Can't find the link anymore, but I read a description that was really good at explaining all the cap that I pull and should have bookmarked it to refer people.

Anyway, I can be having a great day, like today, and then feel myself slipping into one of my funks. I'm learning to socialize without alcohol (oh, didn't I tell you? I gave up drinking for February. Story for another day). I'm finding it not as scary as I thought it would be. I got to spend a couple of hours outside watching the Rugby Sevens Tournament with some friends before going to work, and it was exactly what I needed. But then three hours into work I started feeling down.

I'm convinced it's not because of work. Well, let me explain that. I think it's because I'm in a rut, and that work is just part of that rut that I'm slowly walking along day after day, digging a little deeper with each passage. If I keep walking along it, at what point do the sides become too steep for me to get out?

I desperately want out of Vegas, but I'm not doing anything about it. I'm not actively applying for other jobs, although I did go through a brief phase of looking at apartments in New York, and Munich, and London. But I don't think New York or London would cut it right now. I think they'd end up being a different sort of rut, and I don't want that. Hell, I don't even want to walk down a different path, I want to be climbing the trees. I want to dream in a different language.

I'm sometimes confused by how I got, as I see it, stuck here. After travelling around so much when I was younger, I never thought I would have to stop but owed it to myself to try this 'normal life' everyone else always talks about. After being in Vegas for six months, and getting decidedly antsy, instead of listening to myself and going somewhere else, I bought a condo in the hopes it would maybe settle me, let me give myself a chance at a normal life and a decent career. It's given me the decent chance at a career, but it hasn't settles me. And Vegas is hardly conducive to having a normal life.

For me, settling down, buying a place, and holding down a 9-5 job (well, 330-1130, but you know what I mean), it's been the equivalent of most people's teaching abroad year or peace corps year, albeit a lot less altruistic. I've taken my year off, and now I'm ready to get back into living the life I want, which involves much less in the way of mortgage payments and a lot more in the way of. . .well, anything, really. I have to write my books and my screenplays, and make enough money that I can up and leave and do it anywhere.

So the reason for the title? I like to buy shit when I'm in a pissy mood. Which I am on a regular basis because of the decision I made to try and have a normal, sedentary, settled down life. I have too much crap now to be able to up and move easily. I need to focus my retail therapy somewhere it's going to help, not hinder, my ability to bugger off for a while. Instead of buying any more fricking Blu-Rays (Zombieland is the last one, tomorrow, I swear), I'd be better off sticking that cash in a piggy bank and sending it all off at the end of the month towards my credit card, or student loans, and working towards something that'll get me where I want to be, stop me being so changeable, and buy trips not toys.

But now all I can think about is going to amazon.com and buying a piggy bank.

Taking Stock

Numbers from my Portland trip: Five thousand, two hundred and sixty-nine words written.

Thirty-one beers, two bottles of wine, and two jack and gingers drunk, and eleven new wines tasted

Twenty-one friends and two professors seen, and nine people met.

Four offspring introduced to.

Three hours spent in Powell's City of Books.

One Pub Quiz won.

And yet quantifying things like this doesn't really give the whole story behind a trip. For instance, some of the beers were drunk on my own, winding down, relaxing, while others were watching Joe, Eese's fiance, try to hula-hoop. The conversations, religious and political discussions, and memories dredged to the surface are the treasures I'm taking away from the trip. Meeting the kids of some of my best friends for the first time still hasn't sunk in, even though I've got pictures to prove that I didn't drop any of them. The ache in my legs that only feels like it's gone now, from a night of drunkenly wandering around Portland looking for another bar with Shannon-- that is one thing I'll miss about Vegas if and when I move away from here. There's always something open; a bar, a pub, a grocery store or supermarket if you need.

So taking stock in the trip, it was a good one. The numbers may speak for themselves, but not at any volume. That's where the details come in, the little incidents and trivialities that seem and are so minor, but all of them added up made it a good trip. A very good trip.

Rough Week

for my writing. Really haven't done much to talk about-- haven't even been blogging.

Well, that's not true. I've started a couple but not wanted to post 'em. They've been half-finished, badly thought out, just not worth reading. And it's been the same with my other stuff. Since finishing and submitting 'Back to Bed' Friday last, my head's been all over the place again, not just cos I wrote something I was really happy with and so rested on my laurels.

I just feel like work is getting in the way of everything right now. . .writing, travelling, private life, I feel like everything's affected because work puts me in a bad mood nine times out of ten. So how much is too much? At what point do I need to say I'm done, and move on for my own sanity? Unfortunately, thanks to my current financial situation there's not much option of change right now, and might not be for a while if things continue the way they've been going with the economy.

Maybe I'll just up and leave, go work in a bar in Germany for several months, write in my time off, learn to sprechen sie Deutsh properly. Or I could be down with Alsace, Provence, Prague, Florence, Budapest, any number of places really.

Am I the only one, or does everyone go through this at a certain point in their lives? Are we so much more aware of the world than previous generations have been that we feel more restless? Personally, I blame my parents. They lived in Germany for five years, then had no problems upping and leaving England and moving first to Baton Rouge, then Eugene. Maybe if they hadn't instilled this sense of wanderlust in me I'd be quite happily settling down, making a go at a family, white picket fence and all that bollocks.

Should I be grateful for the experiences I've had, or pissed because it's made me want more? Do I need, at some point in my life, to say I've had enough and it's someone else's turn? I'm sure I do, but as far as I'm concerned it'll be the day the bloody life support machine gets turned off.

'Til the beep switches to the solid tone, I'm gonna push through, get some shit wrote, and see what I can do to having more experiences, and not let work get in the way of life. . .

Sharks

So it's been two weeks since I got back from the Bahamas. Two weeks of proudly showing off the video of Adam and myself diving with sharks. I need to get it on YouTube, cos I think it's pretty damned cool. Two weeks, and we're already talking about our next dive trip. Maybe Roatan and one of the live-aboard or dive package trips. Maybe the Galapagos. I'd love to see the scalloped hammerhead sharks schools. We're also talking about getting a group together, maybe ten people or something. Anyone interested?

So for the first couple of days I was completely on a high from the trip. And a little jetlagged, don't know why I find the east coast harder than I do England to readjust from, but I do. But just to have been diving again! To be lucky enough to see the hammerhead shark on our very first dive; to glide through the water as though I was flying over the wrecks used in two James Bond films; to kneel in a circle like sacrificial victims while some bloke wearing chain mail fed chunks of fish to sharks and got them to swim right up to us. It's definitely one of the most incredible trips I've had, and one of the most amazing things I've ever done.

But the problem is that now I've done it. I want to do it again. I want to do it lots and lots.

I've loved diving since before I started it. Snorkelling in Hawai'i with turtles, that's what made me want to dive. And hence the turtle round me neck, and the 'I saw a Turtle' T-shirt that everyone always comments on. Learning to dive in St. Thomas back in 2003 was one of the things that got me through my last ship contract. Once I was under the water it didn't matter how crappy my day had been, because suddenly everything was better. Even the one or two times I've had pressure problems and only been able to stay very shallow, just floating under the surface is great. So now all I can think about is diving. Adam didn't help matters because the whole time we're down ther he's saying 'If I was you I'd be here right now, you have nothing keeping you in Vegas.' And I really don't. I mean, I have some great friends, but I'll always stay in touch and I'll make more. I have the house, but being upside down in a mortgage almost $100,000, ir really makes you lose interest in paying the bloody thing. So why AM I stil here? I can't seem to focus on anything properly right now. I don't really want to hang out with people, or go to the movies, or write, or work out. The flip side of this is I'm actually trying harder- pushing myself to write, managing a couple thousand words a week which isn't too bad. I went to the gym for the first time i a year or two, and I'm still hanging out with people. But there's something in the back of my mind, looking out, whispering to me just beyond the edge of my hearing. If I could hear what the voice was saying, maybe I'd be able to focus properly and be able to follow through with something. . .something like a blog that was supposed to be about something else but then I got distracted. . .

Organization

I got back Thursday around noon, it's now Saturday night and I've barely said anything here about our Caribbean trip. I will, I'm just trying to organize my head right now.Cos that's what I have the hardest time with, I'd say. Organization in general, not just the confines of my own head. I get everything done somehow, but not in the simplest way just cos I can't seem to get my arse organized. But it seems like these days our lives are getting more and more complicated. There's so much clutter that goes along with everything we do that it can get a bit overwhelming sometimes. If I want to clean off my desk to plug in to the hard drives, then I have to clean out this drawer to put away the photo paper and extra USB cords, but then I have to work out where the other, non-computer paper should go, and pretty soon I'm reading an article about properties of different crystals I haven't been able to find for a year, my bed's become a storage unit, and I still didn't get to edit that video. If I actually make it far enough that I can plug in, then I have to work out which of the three hard drives the file I'm looking for is on, so I decide to try and sort those out, and next thing you know I'm finding old resumes and half built websites, crap I haven't touched for a while and don't need any more but will end up changing or deleting, just to find a different version (or, more usually, the exact same thing) on a different drive. I could go on. But my point is everything seems to have so much more. . .crap. . .to go along with it these days that it can get a little overwhelming to even start. Deleting emails, organizing files, going through your iTunes library and deleting the stuff you apparently illegally ripped from CDs you owned when you were in high school- why is it computers, those marvellous things that were supposed to make our lives easier, just seem to add to the clutter? And now my brain is just like a computer, in that I have to get the bloody thing organized before starting anything, and then I get distracted by what I find in there. I want to write about travelling and diving with sharks, so I sit to think about that. And then I start thinking about all sorts of other crap, like how to travel full time, be a travel writer, what trips I should try to do, how to leave Las Vegas, making new friends in a new place, not making friends in a new place, keeping in touch with people, missing out on their families, mission out on my own family, having my own family, could I do with a shag? And while the time in Nassau hasn't been forgotten, it's been put off. My head is like a hard drive that needs to be defragged, which is strange considering I'm an (almost) apple fanboy. I'm just going to have to learn to live with distraction I guess, and still get everything done, sussed, worked out, planned, defragged, and get on with all my grandiose plans and work on attaining all the goals I'm settin-ooooh, shinies!

Home

Sitting in the Nassau airport writing this, but it'll have to wait on getting posted til I get home, cos despite the insistance of my phone that there's a dunkin donuts wi-fi network, it won't let me online.It's been a good trip. Really good. I finally proved to myself I didn't crack my skull open when I fell out of Ian's car in Denver (I was worried for a while cos I had some issues equalizing last time I went diving). Saw my first hammerhead shark, dove with reef sharks, dove around the never say never again and thunderball wrecks, saw my first cruise ship with its new (to me) paintjob, spent a day in Paradise, had a traffic accident, had a conversation with a bloke who looked like he had that skin thing where you change colour, got eaten alive by mozzies, a little bit sunburned on my nose, spent money, and saw my life flash before my eyes as the cab driver got us to the airport in record time. Even got a bit of writing done. A page or two, but every little bit helps.

Good trip. Roatan next year, anyone?

Hammerhead

First day of diving was today. And gods did it feel good to get back in the water. It didn't feel so good getting up tho. We landed around 11 yesterday, to the hotel by noon, enjoying the bar's honour system by noon thirty. Twelve hours later we'd run out of space to put the check marks for each beer we'd drunk, so headed to bed. Barely slept.

But we made it to the bus and the dive shop, 'stuart cove's.' Made it out on the boat. Our first dive was a spot called lambert wall, part of a drop off for the third deepest ocean trench on the planet. We didn't go down the whole trench, six thousand feet is a little beyond my dive rating. But we were at about eighty feet, ready to head back up the walk, when I saw Adam hold his hand up on his head like a sad attempt at a mohawk and point frantically into the deep water. Looked where he was pointing to see a Hammerhead shark about thirty feet away. As soon as we started looking and pointing at it, with a turn and a couple flicks of its tail it was gone.

Now, this is the second shark I've seen in the ocean while diving, but the first one was in the distance swimming away from us. To see a hammerhead that close, to see the speed, power and grace is incredible. It was only a few seconds, but it'll last forever in my mind.

After that, diving at the wreck used in a James Bond film was cool, but not as monumental.

Sitting in the bar now at the hotel, trading stories with a sixty-three year old Swiss bloke who's been divorced four times, an American on the island to be a pilot for one of the smaller airlines, and a Scotsman who is travelling the world diving after his wife died a few years ago.

This is what makes life.

Anticipa. . .

I know I've used that as a title before, but that was in the MySpace days so it doesn't count. Or maybe one day I'll actually transfer all of 'em to here and actually get rid of MySpace seeing as I haven't used it in over a year. The problem with that, though, is I'll probably realize as I'm doing it how depressingly repetitive I can be. But that's not what I'm here about right now. I'm sure at some point in the near future I'll be at home, have a few too many drinks, and start crying online about my 'sues and hangups and blah blah blah. But right now, I want to talk about being giddy with anticipation about diving in a few days, and I think the ability to be excited about something is funamental to being a human being. Now, what you get excited about is fundamental to being a well-adjusted human being.

When this posts,  Adam and I are flying to Nassau, the Bahamas, to spend four days diving and switching off for a while. And I don't think I've been this excited about anything since my trip to Oz in November 2006. That's not to say I haven't been excited since then, just not to this level. Well, maybe the Germany trip in August 2007. But see, that's the thing I've noticed. There's something about travel that just gets me worked up more than anything else. I'm not one to get excited about movies coming out, or visits by celebrities, but travel really does it for me.

I don't even mind the airport or the plane part of travel, although the older I get the less patient I am with other people. I'm ready to go through the security checkpoint, why the bloody hell aren't you? Yes, you do have to take your shoes off, it's been like that for years. Oh, it beeped because of the change in your pocket? Well imagine that. 'Swhy I travel in flip flops and without a belt, it's just easier to deal with.

So yeah, I'm going to be in the Bahamas for the next couple of days. Probably no blogging, cos I'll be busy.

Virginia

First, a public service announcement: Speeds of over 81 miles an hour in the state of Virginia are considered reckless driving and as such are subject to a mandatory court appearance, possible $2500 fine, and possible jail time. Don't worry, I found this out because I was going 80. But I drive more in Las Vegas than anywhere else, and it's pretty usual here to go 80 on the interstate and have the cops ignore you. Or pass you. Anyway. . .

I was in Virginia for my friend Rusty's wedding. I've known Rusty since some time towards the end of 2001, when we both worked for Norwegian Cruise Lines. As luck would have it we ended up roommates (something that can make or break a contract when you're working on a cruise ship). Oh, the stories we could tell. . .

So the last time I saw Rusty he came to visit me in Las Vegas for a few days more than four years ago. He was here thinking about maybe getting a job, but opted to go back out on ships which turned out to be the right choice as he then met Andreea. Couple of years later, and I get an invitation to go to their wedding in Virginia. Not really a place I would choose to go on vacation, but you do what you can for your friends, right? And as it turns out it was one of the best vacations I've had in a while. There was no stress, it was the first time I've felt able to switch off for probably two years now, and I got to catch up with some good friends and make some new ones.

The first were Shawn and Lori Farquhar. Shawn's a two-time world champion of magic and I worked with him on the same ship I met Rusty but on a different contract. He and his wife Lori are great people, and it was good to just catch up with them after three years. If there had been a better setting than the Waynesboro Waffle House at 3am we'd have been there, but living in Vegas you forget that the rest of the world tends to keep more normal hours.

The next day at a barbecue for the 'out-of-towners' coming to the wedding, I got to meet some of the people behind Rusty's stories, and reminisce about our days on ships. Over almost three years, I worked for two companies, on four different ships, and seven contracts. It was the best thing I could have done after University, and even though I'm happy I don't work on them any more, getting together with a group of ship people and going over the things we used to get up to, it does make you toy with the idea of going back. Because while the travel was great and the experiences were fantastic, what really made the job were the people. A couple of thousand people from around the world thrown together on a floating hotel, well, anything can happen. When you only have a few months and you know you'll be moving on and might never see people again you don't really waste time. You'll make friends that first night on board when you still don't know the way to your lifeboat but have memorized the location of the crew bar. And not the sort of friends you'll make on land, where it takes time to get to know them properly; you really don't hold back in what you'll tell people. It's a bit like living life condensed.

But this isn't about working on a ship, it's about seeing ship people on land. And there's just something about them that even on land you can tell. I met Brad, Jenn and Wendi in Virginia at the 'out-of-towners barbecue.' Never met or spoken to them before, but by the end of the weekend I had three good friends. I'll keep in touch with them, they'll look me up if they ever come down here and I'll do the same if I'm ever in Toronto. And I know you always say that about people you meet, but I've found it much more true of friends I have who worked on ships. I think that's what life is lacking in Vegas- everyone here seems to have an agenda and I find that hard to deal with sometimes. I don't have many secrets because if you ask me something the chances are I'll tell you, even though I met you ten minutes ago. I don't bullshit people because there's no time when you've got a month to hang out with them before they're sent to their next contract. I've built lifelong friendships in days with people on ships, when it's taken months or even years to end up with the same sort of bond in Vegas. Granted, Vegas isn't the best example of living in the real world, but I think life in general could do with a little less guardeness and a little more openness and trust.

I don't know what it is about working on a ship that can do this to a person. Maybe it's the amount of travelling you do as part of the job, the lack of time between contracts or on port days, or you're worried that if you blow them off they'll blackmail you with the story about New Year's Eve at the Captain's Dance, but either way I went to Virginia for a good friend, and came back with a couple more.