I hear my voice in rote mode saying over and over again, I much prefer writing fiction because nonfiction is so easy to write.

And yet, when Im honest with myself, some of my most challenging writings have come when Ive written honest nonfiction that paints me as the villain.

For instance, I agonized long before telling the world why I was fired as a night taxi driver in Spokane. And yet I know including that in my taxi book was the right choice.

To understand this column, youll need a mini-primer on my physical health. In short, its a sorry story. When I first went to Dr. De Young for a physical I wrote out the maladies he would find, simply to save time.

Among more or less serious ailments, I have weak kidneys. The latest was a flare-up of gout in my right elbow.

Last weekend my lady friend and I drove to Seattle to watch her favorite baseball team, the Mariners, play my favorite baseball team, the As.

Our plan was to spend two nights sleeping with my buddy and his faithful dog, Denzel, on my friends 30-foot racing sailboat.

The trip to Seattle itself was an adventure thanks in large part to a Garmin more interested in confusion than direction.

After meeting with family, we ventured late in the night toward the waterfront and were confronted by the Garmin problem. Not good. By the time that GPS had gotten us partially lost, we called my buddy on his cell phone. K.U., his name here, gave us verbal instructions to the large marina where his boat was moored, but his unfamiliarity with the area proved to be an obstacle.

We identified where we were according to street signs, and yet had one tough time responding to directions given to us as north/south or even relying on the ocean as a directional reference.

At one point in time I listened carefully to directions from K.U. and then asked my lady friend to do the same to avoid any confusion.

Once that was accomplished, we couldnt agree on which direction on Market Street to continue our journey. And so we compromised and, alternately, went both directions.

When we finally arrived, K.U. and Denzel greeted us warmly.

After walking down a long slip, we found K.U.s boat and hopped on board, though I basically crawled to avoid elbow pain.

Since my lady friend and I are landlubbers, we didnt get it when K.U. pointed to an on-deck spot where we would be sleeping. The boat deck, even with a cooler propped up in the middle, looked less than comfortable.

K.U. laughed when we moved below deck on a short ladder and learned of our misperception re: sleeping quarters. Our tiny sleeping space could be entered from below deck, one person at a time with headspace maybe 26 inches high.

Have you ever crawled into such a small space, head first, without bumping your right elbow on anything, ever so slight? It was not a simple task and my down vest, zipped high in front for warmth, became a straightjacket of sorts as it rose higher and higher on my chest.

And then, in the night, nature called and I had to utilize the backward inchworm maneuver to extricate myself from our bunk. My friend responded nobly to the cause, but was unable to respond to K.U.s nautical-term verbiage to remove the hatch in time.

Enough said.

Anyway, much as we loved K.U. and Denzel, we found other lodging the following night.

Jabberwock II columnist Rocky Wilson is a reporter for the Chieftain.