Flight
...And, again, no work for me. I decided instead to take Brad to go see the Spruce Goose at the air museum; a far more interesting option than talking to deadbeats for four and a half hours.
I was raised around miniatures of airplanes. My father has been building award-winning models since, appearantly, the dawn of time, a hobby he takes very seriously. To see a real life, full size Fockwolf 190 is staggering. Such beautiful machines, free from the oppresion of gravity, it's easy to loose myself in my thoughts standing in front of a 50 year old military workhorse and just imagining who was the last to fly it. The air museum is a fantastic place; everything from the mash helicopter to the SR-71, crammed together in a sprawling shed in the middle of nowhere, all dwarfed by the frightfully oversized spruce goose.
Rarely is it that old, grey men would take an interest in my presence. But, the veterans staffing the museum seemed pleased at my enthusiasm. Honestly, I could spend the whole day there, reflecting on the mechanic marvels that could take a lucky few where not many would get the chance to go.
I had a great day, and I especially enjoyed brad's company. But by the evening, I was fairly spent. Drama persists, and I'm feeling worn raw. Where's my confidant? Someone I thought I could rely on turned out to be too green. Turns out they're just another hypocrite. Just another in a string of losses, as they come in triplicate, so I'll just wait for the last, and call it good. Man! I'm not good at sulking! I'll just have to practice.
I was raised around miniatures of airplanes. My father has been building award-winning models since, appearantly, the dawn of time, a hobby he takes very seriously. To see a real life, full size Fockwolf 190 is staggering. Such beautiful machines, free from the oppresion of gravity, it's easy to loose myself in my thoughts standing in front of a 50 year old military workhorse and just imagining who was the last to fly it. The air museum is a fantastic place; everything from the mash helicopter to the SR-71, crammed together in a sprawling shed in the middle of nowhere, all dwarfed by the frightfully oversized spruce goose.
Rarely is it that old, grey men would take an interest in my presence. But, the veterans staffing the museum seemed pleased at my enthusiasm. Honestly, I could spend the whole day there, reflecting on the mechanic marvels that could take a lucky few where not many would get the chance to go.
I had a great day, and I especially enjoyed brad's company. But by the evening, I was fairly spent. Drama persists, and I'm feeling worn raw. Where's my confidant? Someone I thought I could rely on turned out to be too green. Turns out they're just another hypocrite. Just another in a string of losses, as they come in triplicate, so I'll just wait for the last, and call it good. Man! I'm not good at sulking! I'll just have to practice.