I feel as though I'm putting too much political material up in my FecesBook entries.
I can't help myself, sometimes. Facebook is a crock of shit, for the most part, and like a drunk passing by his favorite bar, it just calls out at times.
Anyhow, I'm trying to dial it back some, get back to my roots. You know, dick and fart jokes and the like. For the people.
We're continuing a mid-season blitz, which I attribute to a drop in local bunker prices. It's certainly not the regional economy, which is about as healthy as a Pakistani hospice. The workload is not staggering- it's strange, in fact, how some little differences are present and notable, yet I can't explain why they're occuring- there's less advance warning about work than ever- where we used to get 24-72 hours' warning about a cargo being assigned to us, now we're lucky to get 16 hours' notice. It may be the larger ships we're working with as container vessel sizes increase, or the suppliers are attempting 'just in time' delivery to minimize the charter rates for bunker vessels working the spot market. I dunno. Human factors?
What I do know is that I've been trying for over a week to get some fucking green stuff, and it ain't happening. No matter how expensive the gourmet market you shop at in NY, your greens turn to browns rapidly. I'm thinking that the logistical processes that get lettuce from farm to fridge are more involved here than in smaller markets. Whatever the result, it's playing holy hell on my digestion. My popularity is waning on board.
On the upside, time is passing fast. 10 days to go, and I can go home.
Another “Aw fuck” moment in time
1 hour ago