Am I glad that's over or what? Thirty-five days straight, twelve hours a day, seven days a week. The money's great, but you have no life and no wife. Girlfriends and wives like to see you ever now and then. Phone calls, even letters don't do the trick. That one on one personal touch is needed from time to time.
Trust me, I should know after doing this for twenty-five years. Two wives and a half dozen girlfriends later, I'm starting to see that there's something wrong with this picture. By now I should have a fairly old, old lady, and a nice, younger girlfriend. Well, it hasn't worked out that way.
Most folks that see me around, when I am around, think I lead a wild and carefree life. I have traveled over most of the U. S. and a great big part of the world. Like a sailor, I'm supposed to have a girl in every town or port. How's that going to happen when I'm working twenty one to forty five days a month, twelve hours a day, with a week or ten days off between jobs?
Even ten days is too short a time to get yourself home, unpack, do the laundry, check the mail, have a few beers, pay the bills, cut the grass, work on the house, pack and get back on the road. What happened to rest and relaxation? Not to mention a sex life. God, what was that? I think I remember way back when. I just don't remember why.
At my age I should be thinking of retirement and settling down with the little woman to live the golden years. Right. My retirement consists of what I have in the bank against what I owe. As for the little woman, here we go again. There ain't no such thing in my life. Get the point? If wishes were horses we'd all be up to our hips in horse manure, even more so than we are now but don't get me started on politics.
Where was I going? Oh yes, camping. I had to quit to do it but I'm taking some time off. Where better to spend it than in the woods. Wrong! I can think of a hundred places I'd rather be but none I can afford now that I'm unemployed. Story of my life, when I have time, I have no money and when I have money, there's no time. For once I'm going to make time and the hell with the money.
The boss had the nerve to call me after three days home and ask if I could fly down to South America and take over a job that was going badly. Wrong question, on the wrong day. The first day home I unpacked my things and caught up on my rest. I did my laundry and the mail thing. After sorting, it mostly ended up in the trash, the mail that is. I wrote all the checks and got them either ready to deliver or to mail.
After grilling a steak and a taking a long hot shower it was time for bed. Yesterday morning I went to town and paid or mailed bills, made a small grocery run and had a light breakfast at my favorite cafe. After dumping the food off, I headed for the local bar. I think I could leave for six months and on returning, I'd still know everyone in the place. That's where I spent the rest of the day and most of the night.
The phone woke me at the crack of dawn to a splitting headache. Hangover is more the right word. I hope the boss's "sexy Terry" wasn't listening in. If she was I'm afraid she may have learned some new words about up bringing and hereditary traits.
Somewhere about half way through the one sided conversation I quit. At least I think I did. Either way I'm not going to the jungles of Brazil or wherever it was he wanted me to go. I remember giving him plain directions on where he should go and how to get there.
Later, after downing four aspirins, a glass of orange juice, and a beer I tried to go back to bed. No luck whatsoever, so I got up and called unemployment to file a claim. Who knows, I may get lucky and he will tell them I'm laid off. At worst I'm fired. I'm too tired of the whole mess to care.
A little later yet, I'm sitting on my back porch sipping black coffee and admiring the beauty of the day. This is where the idea of a camping trip comes to mind. Of course my mind is not really functioning up to speed after all the alcohol I'd consumed. A dead fish inside a wet newspaper was thinking better than I was.
I hadn't been camping since my last marriage, some five or six years ago. I remember that at one time I had everything I'd need to go, but where it was I wasn't too sure. Somewhere inside the shop or the storage building would be my first guess. There was a bass boat out there too, I think.
Around about my third cup of coffee this idea started to sound better and better. I can't handle caffeine any better than I can alcohol, and the two together are double trouble. I become a wide-awake drunk.
I went inside, fixed another cup, and went to put on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. I figured I'd explore the depths of my shop and storeroom and see what was there. It had been a very long time since I'd even unlocked the door much less entered the place. Speaking of which, where was the key to the lock?
After a short search and a brainstorm, I found the key on a nail behind the kitchen door. So good so far. The shop was a minor mess to say the least, with several unfinished projects scattered here and there. Some I remembered but others I didn't have a clue. Or were they parts of something else.
The storeroom was a total mess, nothing in the right place. I stood in the doorway between the shop and storeroom and looked back and forth. I could just stay home and clean this up. Nope, sounds too much like work to me. I wanted rest and recreation.
Where to start? A tent would be nice, lets see, I remember an old army duffel bag. Yes, there's an eight by ten frame tent and three small dome tents in here. I pull the three small tents out and check to see if all the framework for the big one is in the bag. It seems to be. There's a full sized air bed mattress, with a pump in there too. I toss it out to the floor of the shop. Looking around I selected two lanterns, a camp stove, a gallon can of fuel, a five-gallon water can, and two sleeping bags. A small hatchet and a bucksaw are next in the pile.
Three fishing rods, a tackle box, and a bucket with rod holders, cast net, and stinger add to the growing heap of stuff. Two ice chests and a pair of lawn chairs finish the load. Taking another look around I try to decide what else I'll need. It's too warm to need the tent heater but a tarp, cable a come-along may be handy in case of rain.
Back in the shop I look at this mountain of stuff and wonder if it's worth it. No sir, you're not backing out now. I looked at the boat and wondered why I hadn't had it on the water in three or four years. Both the boat sticker and the license tags were out of date; I sure didn't feel like messing with city hall to get them renewed. I'd fish off the bank, if I wanted to fish. I'd need to stop and get a fishing license.
Back in the house and another cup of coffee later, I started to pack. Shorts, tee shirts, bathing suit, towels, a couple pair of Levies, socks, two sweat shirts, and a pair of sandals, sounded about right. I'd wear a pair of shorts, tee shirt, and my tennis shoes. I'd need a pillow, sunscreen, and mosquito repellent.
In the kitchen I set out an old boiler, a skillet, a coffeepot, and the utensils I thought I'd need. A small bucket and a small plastic pan finished this pile. It all went into a box along with whatever foodstuff from the pantry I thought would be useful, from spices to coffee and sugar, to canned goods. I'd brought one of the ice chests in with me and filled it from the refrigerator.
A radio crossed my mind so I found one in the top of my closet. There were no batteries in it. A flashlight was the next item. Its batteries were dead as usual.
After the job of loading all this crap into my old Ram Charger, I felt like going back to bed. Nope, I'm still not backing out. All dressed and ready, I made one more pass through the house to see what I'd missed that I would need.
