Flying back to Miami manana. Yeah, it's a little early. No, I didn't do anything bad to get me sent home. However, I did pull a typical move (typical of me at least) and got hurt in an odd way. Strain in my foot turns into a limp. . . add the limp to three days working however many undogly hours in new work boots. . . you've got a recipe for a knee swollen to melon-like proportions and a distinct inability to walk properly. Same sad song; Boy meets boot, boot meets pavement, pain meets boy.
Anyway, I'm not being deported for my lack of mobility. (On-board doc says it might
be a problem with one or both of the meniscus in my knee, which sounds likely and bad and means I'm in for a fun future.)
In terms of logistics this job is going extremely well. Add that to the extreme number of logistics people we have here and people have gotsta shuffle. So, I fly home tomorrow and I'll be back in the office on Friday. (I'll take my medicine and like it gal' darnnit.) The rumor is that there are fires to put out back at base. Fires that will only be squelched by smoothly moving freight and well planned delivery times coupled with flawless cooperation between multiple feuding entities. Logistics, like manna from the heavens. . . or somethin' like that.
Where was I? Ah, yes. . . rambling.
Good and bad. Cold and hot. Well handled yet still FUBAR. However, at least I get to sleep in a decent bed again in a clean room. While I do happen to have my own room on board the ship it hasn't been a cleaned in days and they are doing work in there every day. Two nights ago I came home to metal shavings all over the floor and sawdust in all the drinking glasses. "I'm sorry, Bob, but I'm gonna have to go ahead and skip a night in the room of podiatric lacerations and just, uh yeah, punt."
Yeah, PUNT! If Fitty says it's a good idea then it can't be all bad. Gotta admit that I'm not mentally geared to go back to the land of spontaneously combusting lizards and beach-folk with faces like old leather handbags just yet.
Alas, the travel is over for now. There's a very small possibility that I'll find some distant adventure within this new project I'll be working on, but most likely I'm grounded till Xmas in WI. Good time. Good and cold.
In the meantime I guess I'll have to find my board shorts and flip-flops.
And on that disheveled note. . .
Thirty-two dozen points to the person not named A.C. who can tell me which fairly modern cartoon this is from.
One man speaking all the lines to nobody in particular:
"And he said, HEY! I DON'T LIKE THE CUT OF YOUR JIB!!
And I said, I'M SORRY, BABY!! IT'S THE ONLY JIB I GOT!!!"
Turns out it ain't cool to talk about how another man's headsail has been trimmed.