Fumbling Under the Light of the Moon

—06.06.2000—

It’s quarter to eleven at night and there’s still a hint of light in the sky. I’m back on Scilly and considering my next move. Sailing is out.


—06.08.2000—

Elde arrived in the Cove late last Friday afternoon. (The Cove is the name of the eastern of the two coves, on either side of the sandbar, that separate Gugh from St. Agnes.) We ran the ship’s bell as we sailed in. Jack’s partner Patricia was waiting for us on the Gugh side of the shore. It took us forever to get the sails down and make the mooring fast. Finally we motored across the Cove in the dinghy to meet Patricia, Dom and I seated on either side of the outboard while Jack, our proud skipper, stood near the bow. Dom reached up, gave Jack’s sweatpants a yank, and down they came. Jack in his green briefs, pants around his ankles wasn’t fazed by our bales of laughter or by our slapping his ass. He played along for a bit and then hoisted his pants back up to standard-decorum height.

Jack and Dom will spend a few days on St. Agnes before sailing on to the Azores and I’m stepping off the boat for the summer. For the past couple of days now, I’ve been lazing about not doing much of anything while I figure out what to do next.

Let me see if I can recap the past week. It was last Thursday, I think, that I told Jack and Dom that I wouldn’t be joining them for the summer. I spent a good few days agonizing over the decision. Should I throw away such a great opportunity? Did I really want to spend the rest of the summer bouncing up and down in a boat and going for walks? I really wasn’t enjoying sailing as much as I thought I would. It takes forever to get anywhere and I was spending a lot of time down below passing the hours flat on my back dodging seasickness.

When I told Jack it had been a good couple of weeks but I wouldn’t be joining them for the whole trip what I heard was, “Well, we didn’t want you anyway.” What he actually said was “I wouldn’t want to take you along if you had any doubts going in,” which is a lesson I’ve been slowly learning about all decisions. I know what it feels like to want something and I know what it feels like to be ambivalent.

Speaking of which, a girl was coming onto me hard last night at the pub—we were all out for Jory’s eighteenth birthday. She had rowed in from St. Mary’s as part of the women’s gig race and had missed her boat back. “When you finish a race you just feel like you want to have sex with the world!” she told me. I thought, “I’m feeling that into it. Do I really want to wake up next to her tomorrow?” Having been lacking lovin’ for the past few months I considered it, but not for long.

——

Bitey cat found me in the shed, writing. He curled up on the bed, went to sleep in a ball, with his paw over his nose, and is now snoring like an old man. His fur is looking a lot better lately, I’m happy to report.

Jeez, I just remembered that had a dream a couple of weeks ago in which I stole my friend Jessica in SF away from my friend Erik. She and I were both really into it and I just thought, “Finally...” Weird.

Other highlights from last night: We threw Jory into the air 20 times out in front of the pub (two extra for good measure) after downing a couple of shots of flaming Drambuoy. The idea with the shots was to slam your hand down on top of the flaming glass, at which point the vacuum created by the extinguished flame sucks the glass onto your palm. After a few good shakes you drink it. Dom, of course, stuck one to his ass.

—06.10.2000—

The moon was hanging low and ripe in the southwestern sky last night, golden, and swollen to twice its normal size. It was about two o’clock in the morning when Liz and I parted ways after leaving Drew’s after a night at the pub. I called her back to look at the moon, then kissed her on the cheek before starting up the road. This time it was she that called me back. I can’t remember exactly what she said as I walked towards her, knowing what I was stirring up but being too drunk to change course. It was something about not needing to come so close, about not knowing what to say, about disappointment. I told her to tell me another time, turned again, and walked out of the shadow of the hedge, homeward in the light of the moon. As I walked I felt suffocated by the sensation that, in a swirl of frustration and anger at wanting to be heard, and being rebuffed in the too-late, too-many-drinks-in night, that she could snuffed out my life then and there.

Again I’ve ended up treading that delicate path of time spent, of revealing conversations, and detached confidence with someone to whom I’m not really attracted. Of course, I don’t plan it this way. I set out to be friendly, and end up a flirtatious fish. When attraction does strike me I’m guarded and scheming. If only I could rewire those terminals! Bloody hell!

We had been talking for much of the evening about previous relationships, our first time—how does it happen? Earlier down at the pub I got to talking to a girl called Kate who, coincidentally, looked like a young, rustic Katherine Hepburn, but she seemed a bit crazy or maybe just dominated and darted through our conversation. Later at Drew’s, Liz asked if she wasn’t taking me away from talking to Kate. I told her no, that I wasn’t interested in her, which based on my brief chat was true. Ugh, it makes me depressed.

——

I’m still wondering what to do with my time. I’ve felt so lazy and sluggish for the past couple of days. I’ve been pining for home lately, wanting to sink my teeth in again, pick up some of the projects I left off. I was doing some good work before I left. My room is paid for until September, so I could still travel a little longer if I liked. The nascent urge to develop my spiritual side has come to the fore again. But how does one do that in a society hinged on consumerism? Through personal contacts I suppose. I could see more of what there is to see in the remaining couple of months. Buy a cheap car and drive off somewhere.

I’d like to apologize to Liz too, to tell her I realize I’m sending mixed messages.

—06.11.2000—

I embarrassed Liz today—and myself—with that whole mixed messages thing, doubly so I think because after we got that all sorted out I told her I was keeping a journal of my experiences. She went quite as if to say, “Great so this all being recorded?” It’s true I suppose, satellites, closed circuit television cameras, lone travelers on small islands all recording. Maybe I should give this up. Anyway it went something like, “So what you’re saying is you don’t find me that attractive and you were just flirting because you were drunk.” Yikes. The funny thing is, when I first mentioned it she said, “No, I didn’t think you were giving me mixed messages. I thought that’s just how you were.” I’m still so eager to be good, be liked and do what’s right. Maybe I could just let things slide a little more?

In the meanwhile I’ve cleared a load of  tamarisk branches off of a table in the barn at Elder and again am blessed with a place to work. Electricity comes in via an extension cord through the broken bits in the bottom edge of the ancient drooping door. No lights down here on the first floor, just what comes in through the doors and the windows.

It’s quite clear to me that I have to move on. The question is do I go back to SF or travel further. The journey, potent symbol. I don’t know...

—07.02.2023—

Young self, I hear that you feel frustrated and depressed that with women to whom you’re not particularly physically attracted, but are perhaps emotionally attracted, you feel ease and joy and flow in the conversation. And with women that you’re both emotionally and physically attracted to you feel awkward and constrained.

I wonder what would help you feel safe enough to open up and share your feelings honestly and enjoy what is? What would help you connect emotionally in either situation?

I realize perhaps you felt trained by social mores that, if a man and woman share with each other emotionally, that physical intimacy must follow. Could you enjoy each relationship for what it is? And communicate what the “is” is?

What would it take? Would it take first accepting yourself for what you are? Would it take first being accepted by others for what you are? Are these the things we receive in community that we don’t receive in a world where we’re too removed from each other to tell each other what we see, what we appreciate, and how we feel about one another?