Thursday, January 16, 2014

A fish story

Yesterday evening was officially the first day of moving to the new apartment.

Tuesday was officially the worst day of work since I started in October.

This is not me, or my picture - from the 'net.
Yesterday morning I felt similar to what I imagine a freshly caught fish feels when it is flopping around on the boat of an amateur fisherman - gasping for air, uselessly moving about as if it were actually able to do anything.

What would happen next, hopefully, is that someone would gently crush me with one's foot, painfully finagle the hook out of my gills, take a look at me to decide that I am too small/unworthy/gross, and hurl me back into the water. There, I may take a bloody breath and heal and move on . . . or I could get eaten by a predator . . . or I could be unable to heal and float to the top of the water, listlessly defeated. The options seemed grim.

Luckily, it seems that the first scenario played itself out; but man, there were a few hours when I wasn't sure.

Now, I feel very bad for fish. If you go fishing, I say just keep the fish - put it out of it's misery, please.

PS - Fifi is heading to Chicago tonight, with a brother and a new guest in tow. Stay tuned.

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