so, a few days ago, I was all orgasmic over getting some anchor time, a little time to breathe, restock stores and not be running around like a one-armed paperhanger. We had a job delayed after loading hot fuel oil into our unheated tanks... and then the delay was extended slightly... and then more... in the end, it's been 3 1/2 days since we loaded that cargo, and the hot oil has cooled and congealed.
With the extra anchor time, I was inspired to work out a little harder, and having pulled something in my lower back the other night, it turns out repeatedly bench pressing to failure probably isn't the way to care for a sore lower back. As a non-regular weight lifter you'd think I would grab onto an opportunity not to move heavy weight up and down, but no, dumbass that I am, I am now hobbling away up and down my deck as we slowly dribble tepid black oil into a rotten old reefer ship. In fact,a passing tugboat with a friend at the wheel was inspired to ask me if I 'hurt my back or shit myself,' based on my crabwalk. I suppose that my stuttering walk could be mistaken for the walk of shame, the walk of the man with, ah, buttered bread, so to speak.
Anyhow, the sad news is that my mate, Scotty Texas, is moving on at the end of this voyage, in two more weeks. I'm getting a new mate, a man who apparently is a dead ringer for the late Bob Marley. Should be interesting.
Anyhow, I'd give my left testicle at this point for a couple of Alleve. The tylenol isn't cutting into my backache at all, and, frankly, I need to save my liver for when I get home.
Terror strikes Manchester
1 hour ago