I think I have a new motto:

Fish laugh at me. Women loathe me.

I'm not at all in my special place. However, it's entirely of my own doing. I went fishing with Glen, who's very much the albatross when it come to actually wanting to catch a fish. Shoulda been a good night: full moon, rising tides. 'Twas a touch breezy, but nothing out of the ordinary for the Year of the Wind. But I went fishing with Glen. A solitary bluefish frolicked gleefully in one hole, easily avoiding my expert casts. Flounder tied my lines to string algae and chuckled on their way. Glen got bored and frustrated and decided to go home a few minutes early, which was fine by me. He hadn't been gone 5 minutes when I heard a tremendous splash , and turn and cast immediately to the school of puppy drum I'd been searching for all night. By the time my line hit the water, the drum had transmogrified onto a pack of cow-nosed rays, one of whom was more than happy to swallow my bait. For his trouble, he got to pull 300 pounds around for a solid 5 minutes before my 12lb monofil snapped. Knowing the wife would be getting worried and that I was cursed because I went fishing with Glen, I decided to call it an evening myself, without ever boating a fish.

I think I'm going to see if I left my special place at the bottom of a Yuengling....