Well, I finally completed my first year in my new position at work. For my efforts, I got an 8.5% raise. It's a shame I don't really feel so good about that. The money's good for what I'm doing, but it's what I'm doing that I don't like. I spent a lot of time getting my aero engineering degree, but the job I'm in challenges nothing but my sanity. It's just insane volumes of mind-numbing work that doesn't do anything to stretch my limits. If anything, it feels like I spend more time trying to help other people catch up with me than doing my job. I really should get off my ass and make a last push at a flight rated commision. I used to be dead-set against anything but Air Force, but with the Blue-Suits hemoraging personnel (pilots included) to afford a meager force of F-22's, my chances are slim to say the least. I've given a thought or two to Army Aviation, but if you want to stay in the seat of your Apache for more then a couple years, you're better off going Warrant Officer than a straight commision. Naval Aviation wouldn't be a problem, but I get the sneaking suspicion they'd try to shoe-horn me into a nuke-sub to work on a reactor. That just would not work for me. That's before I consider all the physical problems I face in getting there. I lie on the opposite end of the spectrum from most Americans. I can't put/keep weight on to save my life. My vision and hearing are both fine, and I haven't had any breathing problems in a decade plus, but there's a medical file out there somewhere that says I filled a prescription for an inhaler after the age of 13 (because my mother is a worry-wart). I kept telling her to stop. This was one of the few cases where I'd rather need it and not have it. I've grown out of it, but as long as that fucking little slip of paper sits out there somehwere, I'm more than likely screwed.

Posted in Random Debris by: Will at 08:09 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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