I feel like I’m on the verge of a watershed moment after a 4 year wait and, not surprisingly, this weekend is registering in the red zone on the anxiety meter.
It didn’t seem like a profound idiocy to give Jeff my blessing to go on a “2 day” sailing adventure with Bill and company. Heck, that gave us a full 2 day window to screw up the timing. But it’s midday, on day two of the allotted cushion, and I’m finding myself like Marty McFly, shouting ”Why do we always cut these things so damn close? at the dog.
The dog is not impressed one way or the other, as getting Jeff to tomorrow’s appointment is completely out of her paws. I could possibly spare myself some internal churning by grasping that it’s out of my hands as well, but I’m still willing to jump in the Soob and drive an all night odyssey to Norfolk if need be, to fetch Jeff--anything to make tomorrow’s appointment. I have spoken to one of Jeff’s fellow sailors--one who has a memory--and I’ve gotten assurances. Still, there is no question that I will call again today to make sure things are on track. I’m sorry. It’s necessary. There is no other way to prevent myself from turning inside out.
Update: I did call. Bill called back. From Route 64. They wished the sailors bon voyage and rented a car to get back to Baltimore on time. I'm torn between crap--I screwed up the end of the sailing trip, and big heaving sigh of relief.
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