Work week weak.

Today is Tuesday. A long way from Friday afternoon. I once heard that people living a “weekend warrior” lifestyle miss out out on most of their life. I believe this, along with the fact that the asshole that said it probably didn’t work for a living. The fact is, some things aren’t as great as others. Certain parts of my semi-regular job hold as much excitement as watching grass grow. Saturday morning when I beat the sun, wade a few feet into the black, shake off the cold and realize the cold is gone but the shake isn’t…well, suck it work. This doesn’t mean my kind is limited to random evenings and Saturday’s, hungover Sunday’s or overcast January “sick days”. Once upon a time, while couch-ridden with a shoulder that when used for anything outside of holding self pity, felt like I was churning nails and glass. I was going nuts due to the fact that while Columbia tributaries were holding fresh winter runs, I was holding remote controls. I had resulted to wearing my waders around the house and tying, then re-tying then re-re-tying my black and orange intruder that after exactly 1000 hours of uninterrupted deliberation I had decided was going to be the one. I carried the flies around aimlessly and while in my waders, I’m sure my roommate thought of me in the same vain as the neighbor boy that dressed as a cowboy and carried a plastic revolver on his hip. I was having white hot steelhead withdrawals. I had read all the magazine articles I deemed relevant, re-read the book chapters I had nearly memorized, scoured the Internet to read the posts pissing in my face and punching me in the guts. I felt the ache of a junkie.

I eventually got back to the water (according to my recovery schedule, 2 weeks early) my body walked and my mind ran. It was better than good, it felt like I was exactly where I wanted to be, which as you grow older, you begin to appreciate on such a higher level. Everything was new, a rain after a drought if you will. Mind you, I have no wife or children, so all this puppy hugging, angel kissing, heart felt bullshit has to go somewhere or I will literally turn into a stuffed bunny or butterfly. In the end, guys like me will probably have to work, at least till I’m 90 or so, and I’ll fish whenever the time allows it. The saying goes “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. We can stay connected to the things we dig without doing them every day, the lows make the highs that much higher. Besides, who wants to swing flies 7 days a week, right? Right? ….shit.

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One Response to “Work week weak.”

  1. YAIKNOW Says:

    BooYa!!! I hear u my brother.

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