Office Space

I have taken a page from the script of "Office Space." I come to work and do nada. (note the irony) I surf the net. Expand my mind. Drink copious amounts of coffee. Lots of cream. My disenchanment began at 12:46 AM 04 OCT 04 (I should have begun my weblog then to capture the moment. My feelings are still tightly packed in my gut, writhing in pain. The memories fresh. Details crisp. My hatred strong. My zipcode is somewhere on the darkside.) and has escalated into a tail spin of utter disgust.
Insult to injury: I've been tranfered to a non-aviation unit, in a non-pilot slot, sleeping on the office floor in Durham, (here comes the punch line) but I have NO transfer orders. When they do publish them sometime around MAR 05, when funds become available, they will be effective 01 DEC 04 and therefore lose 5 months of rated pilot time towards my 12 year gate. Perhaps my piss poor attitude is derived from my lack of comfortable sleep amplified by the fact they won't promote me even though I'm in a promotable position. Kick me while I'm down...on the floor trying to cop some Z's.
There are no disclaimers. The system owes me nothing. (As I have been told directly. No interpretation required.) I take full responsibility for my lack of professionalism. My actions are as misdirected and woefully fucked up as the parties I despise. It takes great fortitude to do the right thing. To make lemonade and drink it by the gallon, quenching one's thirst on the sour fruit thrown from the hecklers in the dark. But alas, I am weak, small, and most of all tired. I've given into my anger, dousing the flames of my hatred. And what's left at the end of the day...the ashes of my discontent.

Chapeau

Got a new hat today. (Or "flag" according to New Era, the manufacture of said chapeau.) Red. Never had a red hat before. New year. New hat. Looks pretty good. Well above the ears. Not stiff. Not busy. Washington Nationals. Some loose local affiliation.