Wednesday, March 19, 2014

the zombie bandwagon

Why, oh why, in the name of the seven mad gods of the sea, did I request to work 10 weeks in a row? It's not like I was asked to work extra. I CALLED THEM.

 OK, the money's nice. I swear I can hear my hair falling out, though, every time I get out of bed at eff-this-thirty for watch. And then the damn shit tank went and took a dump, too, spilling unspeakable awfulness into our after rake, the underdeck dry goods storage compartment here at HAWSEPIPER's Afloat Global HQ/Centers Of Unspeakable Smells.

 Well, strapping on a respirator and vacuuming out that compartment with a 200 foot long hose at an industrial facility made things easier. Could have been a LOT worse. Could have had to get in there with a wet-dry vac, right?

 After being here too long, little stuff gets blown out of proportion. I slightly overcooked a frozen pizza the other night, and almost had a meltdown. I felt embarassed at my own level of butthurt.

 I need a few weeks to decompress... and that time is almost here. 7 weeks down, slightly less than 3 to go!

 But, yeah, I can totally still smell that funk from the other night. Turning a 50x20x20 foot compartment into a giant diaper pail, and then hanging out in it for a couple of hours is going to mess with anyone's head, I guess.

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