This morning, I woke up feeling like a mix of tired, under the weather, and, let’s just say, not in peak physical form. I got an email from a pal who used to clock in at Sikorsky. Turns out, Doug was a piece of work to her too, treating her pretty much like I’m getting treated now. It’s tough not to take what he said yesterday to heart. I still feel down in the dumps. How did I go from being a mountain bike champ and local hero to feeling like yesterday’s garbage in the eyes of a whole corporation? Beats me.
Honestly, I’m not even sweating the small stuff like raises or the threat of getting canned anymore. It’s the words that were said, and the sting of betrayal from someone I thought had my back, that really cut deep. But hey, there’s a silver lining—I’m actually getting pumped about the idea of moving back to Montana. The more I think about it, the more places like Billings or even Roundup start to sound like home. It’s time to confront the ghosts I left behind, to ditch the fair-weather friends and the endless chase for their approval.
More Bad News Hits Sikorsky
“Touchdown Sikorsky, and guess what? More bad news than a Kardashian reality show marathon. Turns out, the presidential chopper project’s taking a detour to next year’s election cycle. Sounds like someone’s worried about optics, am I right? So, what does this mean for your friendly neighborhood employee? Buckle up, buttercup, ’cause it means layoffs are about as imminent as a Kardashian meltdown” ~unknown
Now, don’t get it twisted, I was already plotting my grand exit. A part of me, the one that’s eternally wearing rose-colored glasses, was kinda holding out for a moment of glory, a chance to prove the naysayers wrong. Maybe even a “reassignment” over a “don’t let the door hit ya.” But you know what? The mountains of Montana are calling my name, serenading me with promises of peace and quiet—a siren song that’s music to my ears compared to the latest office drama.
Boneshakerbike 
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