An Organized State of Disaster

The run down of my day. I called you first thing to cry, thank you, I don't think I can ever say that enough to you and perhaps one day I will take us on vacation and I will say "See it was all an emotional investment plan and this is your interest payment."

Then I went to work painting (boat) bottoms, this really wasn't that bad. Sometimes I guess the impending doom of a dead end job is worse that some of it's day to day realities. One of which was the drunk (as in is drunk everyday by  noon, or so says the entire marina population) french Canadian man whose boats I am working on.  I will tell you, that trying to understand a slurring man with a thick french accent in a noisy work environment is an almost impossible task. Thank god I'm good at grinning and nodding with the perfectly peppered 'I see's'. I was later to discover that I had despite all the odds become this man's "hero" by the end of the work day. Oh well gotta be the saviour of something. And I did make out one interesting story that seemed to center around him taking a long boating vacation without ever once looking at a chart or turning on his radio, this man might well be a time bomb of disaster. 

All of this meant that as days go, this one was not a bad some. It didn't rain, I didn't destroy anything, and I can check Heroine as done on my todo list.  So sidling back to the car I was feeling alright. Especially since I was just in time to drive to see another possible job, and this one a boat job, a real live boat job.  Only to discover that Tilly in the last  45mins had been hit by the ravages of some previously consumed item and taken diarrhea shits all over my car's seats. Not only this but she was also looking at me desperately, with shit on her nose. "Let me out!"  You have never seen such ecstasy, as she exited the putrid vehicle and you have never seen such agony as I entered it rag in hand. 20 mins later and late for my meeting I hop in, Tilly beside me, the shit smell now just one of those horrible lingering afterthoughts. It takes a long time for my car to actually turn over, men make motions of coming to my aid, I shake my head, NO it will start! And start is does but as I back up I worry Tilly is about to explode again causing me to back up into another truck. DAMN. No real damage. I start the truck again, fan belt squealing I make my less than graceful exit. 

Arriving at the marina, Late!  Tilly shits again on the dock! I find a hose. People give me bad looks. 

But things look up, the client is also late. He turns out to be nice. I get the job. Although smallish, it is still on a boat doing real work. 

Back out to the car, another shit (beside a tree) and we hop in. I guess Tilly discovered a whole new meaning to the term 'shit box'. And so we cruise home, into the sunset, Tilly trying to get me to pet her face and me, being unable to forget the smear that recently crossed it, pet everything but. 

Love 

Erin