My buddy on the big sportfisherman is the Captain. So yes, he's only fishing for sport, but yes, he does it for a living... albeit as a Captain on a privately owned Sportfisherman. He works commercially, but he's not a commercial fisherman per se'. As my text reads, he was calling me to fetch said coin. W/o a commercial license, you can not sell your fish to wholesale markets, but small restaurants & Chefs such as myself typically buy fisherman out like himself @discount to what we'd pay from a wholesale market all w/in 24 hours of harvest.
My buddy on the other boat is just a sport fisherman out on vacation on the OBX. I met him fishing the GOM last summer, and we're hoping to make it out again in a few months when I get some breathing room.NBLES <>
Doesn't matter what you're catching as long as you're fishing. We have a lot of fisherman on this Forum... so-who-here-does-this-t2638.htmli-was-away-for-a-few-days-t4159.htmlGINGER <>
Deal. UMBERTO <>
Don't read too far into it. I am not upset that I have a job; I am extremely blessed to do what I do where I do for whom I do... I am extremely clear in that. But I am just as clear, that I'm fueled existentially by a hatred that runs as deep as the veins to the hell I am destined to. I was an angry young man. I am an angry man. There are those that believe peace & love are the way to enlightenment... and to them I can not speak.. as they anger me out of control. I have known no stronger emotion, I have experienced no more powerful a motivator, I have had no more guiding a light than the beacon of hatred I have navigated a lifetime upon. It has delivered me to where I stand, and for better or for worse she is always there. It's always been comforting to me, to know w/o a doubt that in the blink-of-an-eye, I can draw upon the vast abyss of hatred that resides palpably behind the face I'm forced to wear for society. I harvest for fuel... the densest fuel I've ever known. Therein lies the frustration I mention in my opening post. It is only myself I am pissed at... the paradigm of which I have resigned to. I know a paradox lies embedded within, but in all of my successes, in all of my triumphs, in all of the instances in which my way has worked... and worked well.. I still have to ponder why I'm just another indentured servant on the plantation.
I sincerely appreciate the romanticism of, "just up & leave"; I held those stances in my youth. But in the real world, that is how careers are ended, reputations are destroyed, bridges are burned... I'm not so naive as to claim there is not a time or place for such drastic measure, but coming from someone WHO HAS lived on the street, sleeping under overpasses, showering at beach stalls, I find that working and working HARD to pay the mortgage and cover the bills to provide for my dog is a far preferable existence than the aforementioned.
I ask you to step back a moment & factor for a moment the level of exhaustion that some like myself entertain. I have a 30 month running mean of 80.2 hours per week. I bill on the 15th & 30/31st, and have a high billing statement of 234 hours for 16 days; that's consecutive 117 hour work weeks. Unfortunately, I have done more 35-40 hour shifts (AT LEAST 6 a year, but realistically double) in the last 30 months than most will do in a lifetime. Living only to work, at an extreme end of the spectrum as few of us do, leaves the body in a constant state of sympathetic nervous response. Prematurely expending the adrenal system, neutransmissions interrupted - synapses unable to fire efficiently... it is the course of an early death.. it is my path. There is my "pissed". Not at all that I am going to die young - I've already died once, but rather, that even with above an average intellect, with an above average skill set, with a work ethic that surpasses a sweatshop laborer working for the permission to breathe, with above average vision & perception... I am still on the plantation.
My point was that although I'm apparently lucid & coherent, my thoughts are often abstract & discombobulated. There are shrinks out there in cyberspace who are reading this right now, chuckling under their breath at how textbook my case study is, and I am not so foolish nor naive as to not see but too busy and too frugal to engage the psychotherapy.
I am always pissed, but my work... my product.. that is deliverance.
All work & no play... make Jack a dull boy.