[interlude here; as I chat on the phone with a girlfriend, Denis holds up two beers from across the dock and shouts, two beers, or not two beers? we beers, watch the sunset, tiptoe into (and back out of) a political conversation, and gossip wholeheartedly about everyone around us. I see a fishbone in the orange clouds of evening, which becomes a skeleton, which becomes a pile of frisee...I'm hungry.]

Sometimes, mind over matter is absolutely not what I need. I arrived at this morning too late, as tightly wound as my coiled lines, bent out-of-shape both literally and figuratively from a week of late nights, booze, heavy diet and lack of alone time. Having hauled myself down to Brighton Beach, I immersed, once again, my worried face in the greenslime water and swam until my chattering consciousness gave me a few moments' peace. At times, on a five-kilometre swim-trek, one thinks, that's enough—I've reached a mellow place in my mind. I can go home now, satisfied that I've completed some small distance for the day. I will swim more another day. But the memory, that feeling of exhaustion from two hours of slow build, strong currents and arrhythmic chop, always tugs at my psyche, and I continually challenge myself to go further, go harder, just a little bit more—one more jetty!—all the while feeling my face relax into the aqua greenness, stretching my limbs and torso and feeling my back muscles connect through my core, making sure that I maintain some level of exertion even when I am as exhausted as I am today. And then, there I am, at the pier, or at the end of some jetty, and my mood lightens as I get closer and closer to home. The arguments that go on in my head are stilled, all without ever really taking my face fully out of the water, save for a minute or so break after the first half-mile at Coney Island Avenue, and a few minutes of rest and a snack at the Stillwell Avenue pier. Today, as I treaded water, ate my gel and chatted with another swimmer, two lifeguards in board shorts took turns doing flips off the pier. Matter over mind: the swim calmed me into submission and a peace of mind that I can barely achieve on land these days.

D. calls: he's reached Kingston, and the electrical problem that stopped him this morning has been solved. His man-journey is in full swing, and I almost wish I had taken his offer and gone with him to Chautauqua by boat. It will be an incredible journey, especially if he makes it.