$*&%)_

Blood sugar must be low. I'm crazy grumpy, and no reason to be. It's a gorgeous day, easily one of the nicest of the summer. We're working, but tomorrow looks like it will be easier, and enough time to get to the store, God willing, to load up on frozen meat, canned goods and soda for next month. I'm out of here in a few days, but got talked into working over, doing an extra week on a POS barge that we can't keep a crew on (on account of it being a POS, as you might surmise). Still, I'm happy to be working for a company that ASKS the questions like "Hey, could you work over on the (name redacted)?" rather than, you know, laying guys off every time the CEO gets shitfaced drunk and drunk dials the dispatcher, which is the reputed MO of another company operating here in NY.

 Things are good. Why am I grumpy? Probably because I'm still going to be here when I COULD beexploring the neighborhood around Heaven's Waiting Room, and Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife is waiting for me at home, too, as she doesn't like exploring without me. She's in a funny situation. Being a latina in south Florida, and having a damn heavy accent, lots of folks switch to Spanish when they talk to her, and then she gets the dog-hearing-strange-noise look, as, in fact, she doesn't speak spanish, but its' latin roots allows her to understand about 1/3 of what's being said.

 Ah, the pleasures of marrying a foreigner. It makes for fantastic humor. It's damn eerie that my life at home feels so much like this:

Still, those sorts of moments are exactly why I'm a little homesick, I guess. After all these years, sure it still happens.