Work just plain blows…
…but fishin never does. I figure hell, if I get fired, then they gotta foot a few months of unemployment. And if that were to happen, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.
OK, I do. I’d fish every day. Beats the day-in-day-out nut twisting of suffocating under a mountain of work and missing deadlines promised by people who are qualified to … hold on, I’ll think of something they’re qualified to do eventually …
What makes this more of a scrotum punch is the few days of swingin streamers and drifting egg patterns under a bobber for lake-runs in western NY over Thanksgiving juxtaposed against an ever-sickening feeling I get 9 hours a day, Monday through Friday. And now the three to seven people who might read this have the pleasure of helping me through the therapy of a bad, really bad addiction to chuckin flies.
