Its also supposed to be a very fishy, smelly fish.
So imagine sitting in a brine barrel with a fishy fish. That's how I feel right now, mentally speaking.
I've been putting the cockles of my heart that house my ambitions into a project at work. As of today I've had to let it be pounded, derived, rendered and squeezed into an ugly box with no air holes or pretty bows.
My original dream, the mangled meat mess (which, let's be honest, doesn't look good in bows anyway), has been dragged away and in its place I have a fish, the red herring.
Fish is not meat. In the words of Ron Swanson, "Fish meat is practically a vegetable."
We are distracted from the real issues at hand and forming a solution for a problem we only fabricated out of fish. The chum of all problems.
How does one handle the stamping out of a dream? The murder of ambition? Proceed with the outline as proposed, send the troops into battle, arm them with, what else, a fish.
I lost the battle, but the war is TBD. I'm sure I'll get 'em next time.
