I gotta stop uding this blog as my ombudsman/fainting couch/tear-stained dear diary. Every post lately has been about who/what failed me this time and how I heroically saved the day/bore the burden with masculine stoicism.
To stop my bitching, it would be really, really nice if I could have a cargo that loaded and pumped off well, or a day at home where my day didn't end with existential dread or 'Fuck it, I'm too tired to care any more today.'
Nothing yet, but I'm trying to find that day. Sure wasn't yesterday and today my day was already ruined by 0435 when I walked into the galley to caffeinate, eat a handful of blood pressure meds and vitamins, and B says to me 'Fuck, man...'
Maybe tomorrow. Sorry for all the whining.
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