The first instinct has always been—will always be—to flee from impending disaster. As far as I can tell, I’ve played this game as tight, as taut as I might ever play it, given the circumstances, given what shape I’m in, and I really couldn’t have hoped for more. It wasn’t about not being enough (although that may be true) nor was it about not being true to myself. That’s all there is, there ain’t no mo’. I’ve been down this road so many times, the thought of even one more trip makes me utterly sick.

The open sea beckons, the only thing that seems to accept me. Not so much because the sea really gives a damn about what happens to me, but because there’s really no other place to go.

Time to let the spinnaker unfurl. We’ll run with the wind until it stops. I’ve really got nothing left to say. If you want to find me, you’ll know where to look.