Don't Leave Me

I have an hour to pack and get on the road if I'm going to sit-out Houston's rush hour at the Petrol Station with one of my oldest friends. Then on to Morgan City with crew change at midnight.

The day I arrived home I drank a six-pack of beer and struggled to stay awake long enough to see the kiddos and re-set my internal clock to normal waking hours.

The next morning started with a 0430 wake-up and trip to the hospital for an outpatient procedure that left me groggy and off-balance the rest of the day. Then into the weekend and kids, kids, kids.

It's chaos here: Two boys under 3, two dogs and a cat. I really don't understand how my wife keeps up with it all and works full-time, but I'm grateful.

And then, there's this: every single day, every time I walk toward the door or the 2-year-old hears the jangle of car keys, he says: "Daddy, don't leave me!" And he means, specifically, don't go back to the boat.

I wish I didn't a.) love my work so much, and b.) need the income.

A 5:1 schedule is just ridiculous, and I doubt I'll be doing that again. Even the 2:1 schedule is kind of crazy, and I'm still holding out hope for even time.

It's not all about stacking up the green, and I decided a long time ago that I was on the "work to live" team, not the "live to work" bunch.

We'll see. In the meantime, one more load of clothes to throw in the dryer ....