Does This Tank Make My Ass Look Fat?

I'm tired.
No. Scratch that. I'm worn the fuck out!
My shoulders are killing me (I have rotor cuff "isssues"), my lower back screams in pain (despite that nifty, incredibly expensive, space-worthy, mattress-topper I purchased), and my hands ache with the arthritis I inherited from absolutely no one in my family.

I've picked up a number of "maintenance-related" jobs at the local marina, something I don't usually do. It started with one, "Do you do barnacle removal?", from a dude that I met at a local bike rally, after mentioning that I was a diver.

I'm just speculating here, but appparently, a woman in full neoprene gear, SCREAMS, "I'd LOVE to scrape barnacles from the underbelly of your boat.", 'cause every rich, swingin' dick, (and there are MANY, here), with a yacht, has managed to approach me with a job proposal.

Eh, the money is good, and Lord knows I'm capable of uttering the word, "no", so I suppose I shouldn't bitch. I guess while attaining my S.A.R. status, barnacle-removal was not what I had in mind.

Then again, body recovery just plain sucks (although it will ALWAYS be an important, endeavor), and weapons recovery is a task few and far between, here in the land of the perpetually BORING.

No drunken idiots havc lost a motor on the Ten Tom river lately, either.

*sigh*

I'm getting old, methinks. And, while my profession allows me to function underwater quite well (tis weightless, folks!), the lugging of equipment, to and from sites, and off-gassing in this oppressive heat, is wearin' me OUT.