Day 65 - A Whole Bunch of Nothing

"What's that?" Ryan asked as I emerged from the darkness.
"You said we needed firewood." I dropped five wooden stakes, each about two or three feet long, on to the ground by the chiminea. In the glow of the fire, it was clearly visible that I had found pieces of processed lumber, puzzling Ryan.
"Where did you get it?" came his response.
"Don't ask," I said.
"They look like marker stakes."
"Well," I replied. "That's just what they are."
Then it apparently dawned on Ryan that a surveying crew had been at the airport earlier in the day, marking the land for a planned parking lot. "The ones they put up today?"
No response necessary. I merely produced my patented and often mocked, half-smile, half-smirk expression and took a sip of my tea.
Ryan erupted in uncontrollable laughter. "That's awesome!"
Ok, so before you get all emotional on me, they had wayyyy too many stakes lining the access path, which was already well-defined, so I just borrowed a few of the less-stable ones that would have become victims of the treacherous Walker County crosswind anyway. The crews will make do, and we needed wood. War is hell.

Again, nothing earth-shattering to report. For the third day in a row, I did absolutely nothing. More boredom, more mental anguish. Anxiety persists, and I've decided that it's going to. It's not going to give up until such time as I'm getting paid decently to fly an airplane (a nice one, please), and all is right with the world. Now when that will be, who knows? I've been doing a lot of soul-searching lately; trying to come to terms with my desires and expectations. It's interesting to me that I love to fly because I love to travel and see places, but only for a short time. I don't like being away from home. A traveling homebody. I think they call that a paradox, maybe?
I'm really starting to like the corporate/charter idea, at least in the short term. Flying in the southeast, specifically, has always intrigued me. I realize that this is a pipe dream only, but I think buzzing around in a King Air would be a good gig for a while. Or perhaps I could one day schmooze my way into flying my beloved Jetstream for CFM in Smyrna? This is way beyond the scope of relevance as I have a long way to go before either of those even remotely become a possibility, but hey, a guy can dream can't he? Picturing myself in the future, having hopefully "made it" tends to slightly assuage the ever-present anxiety. At least for a few minutes. Then I remember where and who I am, and the daydream is over. Back to reality. Also adding to my disappointment and discontent is the revelation that I will most likely be shipped off to another airport in order to complete the cross-country phase of this training before I can complete my commercial ride. Yet again, something that they "forgot" to tell me when I transferred here. As you may well imagine, I'm not looking forward to that either. Those thoughts and anticipations are giving me plenty of grief, but I try to tell myself that it would only be for two weeks-ish, and that I can hold my breath for that long. I just get really irritated by the over-inflated, over-confident, overbearing, hateful, and totally arrogant paradigm that runs rampant in this program. A 300 hour, six-month pilot, who now thinks he's God's gift to aviation because he's passed a few checkrides doesn't impress me (nor does a flight instructor on a power trip). This seems to be the majority attitude at other locations, so leaving here means encountering those ideals in large doses, most likely. We'll see how that goes. Additionally, I've continued to debate the CFI issue throughout the day. I've sought counsel beyond my own, and the more trusted sources that I consult, the more they agree with me and my plan. In fact, thus far I'm batting 1,000. Further investigation is underway. The good news is that there are usually many different ways to accomplish something in aviation. The bad news is that I've yet to find one that's easy.
And my last order of business in this pointless babble is to report the arrival of a new instructor, and departure of the old. Ryan and I officially welcomed the new man, Danny, into the loyal brotherhood of The Mansion on the Hill this evening, and I have reasonably high hopes based on our conversation. He seems to be fairly humble and relaxed, so maybe things will improve for me. We're supposed to fly tomorrow, and I'm actually looking forward to it, for various reasons. Certainly not the least of which is the promise of a little progress, which puts me that much closer to completing this program, and reclaiming my life. I strive to finish as soon as practical, really. I want to get back to my own world, and start trying to conquer it. I'm so worried about the future, mortified really. The possibility of failure weighs heavily on me, but I suppose that I'm guaranteed failure if I don't enter the race. Plus, as previously mentioned, I'm still feeling trapped. Being unable to leave, all the while doing nothing, crushes my spirit. My tenure here feels hopelessly eternal, and it's driving me nuts. But then again, I guess I've always been a little nuts.


Just a little.

Joey