So, Maddog and I are fishermen by trade. Well, HE is, I'm a novice/apprentice to him.
Now, before I explain the title of the post, let me go on a record by saying that I actually enjoy fishing, when things work out. It's calming, relaxing, it's not stressful at all, and it's a great hobby. And to boot, it's a great opportunity for me and Maddog to bond.
There's just one little problem.
There exists a fishing spot only we know of that's located down the highway where I live. It's bordered by a VERY long trail that feeds off into a river basin that is absolutely full of all sorts of fish, everything from bass to brim to Croppies to croakers and everything inbetween.
Obviously, traveling along the trail itself would take about ten miles of walking. But Maddog found a shortcut, and unfortunately it requires the following:
1. Park about four feet from the first road sign off the side of the highway (yes I am dead serious, this is the only way to start getting into the shortcut for the spot.)
2. Rush through a VERY deep mud marsh that may or may not eat your shoes and/or suffocate you if you faceplant and get stuck. (Again, yes I am serious about this.)
3. Both people have to then sprint holding a heavy arse cooler up to a barbed wire fence that Maddog and his friend Jeremy had conveniently warped downward leaving enough room to vault through. One person has to go first so the other can hand the first the cooler.
4. Quickly sift your way through the prickliest, and most absurdly sharp thickets of foliage known to man placed just there for my convenience.
5. Haul your aft end with herculean strength, most likely more than your body is able to do without initiating the first step in the process of shutdown/consciousness loss, to the edge of the woods, start to the middle of the trail and head west until you reach the basin.
6. Sit on the cooler, weakly cast your line, try to stay awake until you get a strike, and try not to lose consciousness, because at this point you are most likely fatigued beyond waking recovery because you just sprinted across a forest that may happen to be absolutely laden with COVID19.
CAN YOU SEE WHY I HATE THAT SPOT?!
It makes no sense why he's made me go fishing there for, get this, SIX DAYS IN A ROW!!!! I can't keep up anymore! I am STILL recovering from the exhaustion I suffered! That's how much it's worn me out! I've lost two weeks of sleep from going there because he's forced me to stay awake every two and a half days for the week just so I can be prepared to go AGAIN the next day after, because he always starts us at 7 AM sharp to go there!
You know how long I slept last time I did?
Are you sitting? Standing?
Are you drinking something?
Okay. Get this.
The last time I ACTUALLY got a full length of sleep....
I slept for
FORTY EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS STRAIGHT.
I wish I was joking. I sincerely, truly do wish that I made that up. But I'm not. I didn't. I can barely type this alone let alone work up the energy to do something as trivial as rotate the spigots of my showerhead in the morning. It's taking me nearly a full hour to do things like take the trash out, change clothes, clean the house, which is no less exhausting because of the threshold of urgency he uses to make me work and the margin for completion he sets (have you ever spent the entire day trying to use a broken vacuum cleaner's nozzle to suck crumbs and debris out of the unrealistically tight crevices of the edges of the carpet and the trim of the wall? no? I envy you.). He's not being abusive but for the love of God I CAN'T FREAKING BREATHE ANYMORE!
And now he wants me to go with him this morning at sunrise. AGAIN.
Help me. Please. I don't want to go back to that bloody fishing spot anymore. It's risky, it's dangerous, it's way too dang difficult to get into, the preparations have to be fully exact, and if ONE of us so much as grazes the root of an oak tree with our toe while sprint heaving the bastard of a cooler along the forest, we both go tumbling and out comes our supplies on the ground.
Oh heavenly lord, if you can hear my cry, please let me stay home and sleep in...
Now, before I explain the title of the post, let me go on a record by saying that I actually enjoy fishing, when things work out. It's calming, relaxing, it's not stressful at all, and it's a great hobby. And to boot, it's a great opportunity for me and Maddog to bond.
There's just one little problem.
There exists a fishing spot only we know of that's located down the highway where I live. It's bordered by a VERY long trail that feeds off into a river basin that is absolutely full of all sorts of fish, everything from bass to brim to Croppies to croakers and everything inbetween.
Obviously, traveling along the trail itself would take about ten miles of walking. But Maddog found a shortcut, and unfortunately it requires the following:
1. Park about four feet from the first road sign off the side of the highway (yes I am dead serious, this is the only way to start getting into the shortcut for the spot.)
2. Rush through a VERY deep mud marsh that may or may not eat your shoes and/or suffocate you if you faceplant and get stuck. (Again, yes I am serious about this.)
3. Both people have to then sprint holding a heavy arse cooler up to a barbed wire fence that Maddog and his friend Jeremy had conveniently warped downward leaving enough room to vault through. One person has to go first so the other can hand the first the cooler.
4. Quickly sift your way through the prickliest, and most absurdly sharp thickets of foliage known to man placed just there for my convenience.
5. Haul your aft end with herculean strength, most likely more than your body is able to do without initiating the first step in the process of shutdown/consciousness loss, to the edge of the woods, start to the middle of the trail and head west until you reach the basin.
6. Sit on the cooler, weakly cast your line, try to stay awake until you get a strike, and try not to lose consciousness, because at this point you are most likely fatigued beyond waking recovery because you just sprinted across a forest that may happen to be absolutely laden with COVID19.
CAN YOU SEE WHY I HATE THAT SPOT?!
It makes no sense why he's made me go fishing there for, get this, SIX DAYS IN A ROW!!!! I can't keep up anymore! I am STILL recovering from the exhaustion I suffered! That's how much it's worn me out! I've lost two weeks of sleep from going there because he's forced me to stay awake every two and a half days for the week just so I can be prepared to go AGAIN the next day after, because he always starts us at 7 AM sharp to go there!
You know how long I slept last time I did?
Are you sitting? Standing?
Are you drinking something?
Okay. Get this.
The last time I ACTUALLY got a full length of sleep....
I slept for
FORTY EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS STRAIGHT.
I wish I was joking. I sincerely, truly do wish that I made that up. But I'm not. I didn't. I can barely type this alone let alone work up the energy to do something as trivial as rotate the spigots of my showerhead in the morning. It's taking me nearly a full hour to do things like take the trash out, change clothes, clean the house, which is no less exhausting because of the threshold of urgency he uses to make me work and the margin for completion he sets (have you ever spent the entire day trying to use a broken vacuum cleaner's nozzle to suck crumbs and debris out of the unrealistically tight crevices of the edges of the carpet and the trim of the wall? no? I envy you.). He's not being abusive but for the love of God I CAN'T FREAKING BREATHE ANYMORE!
And now he wants me to go with him this morning at sunrise. AGAIN.
Help me. Please. I don't want to go back to that bloody fishing spot anymore. It's risky, it's dangerous, it's way too dang difficult to get into, the preparations have to be fully exact, and if ONE of us so much as grazes the root of an oak tree with our toe while sprint heaving the bastard of a cooler along the forest, we both go tumbling and out comes our supplies on the ground.
Oh heavenly lord, if you can hear my cry, please let me stay home and sleep in...
