Every time I work on the bird it seems, I bleed. It's as though there is a fee I must pay for working on it. And the daily fee is at least a puncture of the skin, a drop of blood...at least one. Normally, it's a pretty simple cut easy to ignore. Every so often, it's a surface wound right on the nerve and constantly annoying. Today, I payed the fee for at least the rest of this year... Or maybe I just cleared any debt I had on the aircraft's books.

When I was in the first grade, I was making fun of this fourth grader. A lot of kids pick on other kids, and yes..I was that little snot of a bully way back when. Well, she had a 15 year old brother who had a 16 year old friend. They took it in their own hands to "rectify" the problem while my brother hid in the bushes. I was seven, he was nine. I wouldn't have hid the bushes....but I don't blame him for doing it. A half an hour later...my entire face was covered in blood. And I only had my tears to wash them away until an old neighborhood woman cleaned me up. I don't remember pain. I don't remember any pain at all. Just all the blood and the short walk home made a hundred miles longer with my humiliation and fear.

Today, I was reminded of that when my forehead slammed against the No. 2 aft engine mounting structure. I knew the second contact was made that there'd be blood. So I reach up and a big blot rubs off onto my finger. "Damnit," runs through my mind in a silent, resigned voice. And I reach up again, the whole finger covered. And it kept coming. I could have easily covered my face with the deep red of my blood. I could nearly see my skull. And now, I'll have a sideways "v" on my forehead for a few years until my skin heals it well enough to hide the Chinook's "V"ictory.

I'm wearing down, but I won't break. I am as mountain. And the only thing that can bring a mountain to its knees is time. I am no different in such respects. And though the amount of time is not a millenea for me, it is at least a good 70 to 80 years.

My skin is turning into leather. My eyes turning into doors. My mind turning into a well-planned schematic. I'm getting older, and I'm feeling it more than ever day by day. Friends talk of their "second adolescence" in college. Meanwhile, I compare this to my "near-retirement-home" days.

Sometimes I feel young again. Fresh and vibrant. Other times, I feel so old and tapped. I think when I start getting regular sleep again, I'll be fine. I'll be fresh and new. And though I know I'll never have a "second adolescence", I'll be okay.

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And that's that.
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Heart vs mind.