Flying is nothing other than a DRUG, though admittedly a legal one (most of the time anyway <img src="smile.gif" border="0"> )
Before I got addicted I had a good career, a pretty girlfriend, heck, even a car that looked like it still had some metal left in it.
Now, I lie awake at night thinking what tomorrow will bring, even a quick island hop would stave off the shakes for a while.
When I'm not flying, I have to resort to strong caffeine, smokes, and the *occasional* beer to stop the taunting voices that call me back to the airport for just another fix...
But I know that I can stop any time I like !!
<img src="wink.gif" border="0">
Hell, I got thrashed by storms the other night that seemed intent on reducing my 'plane to its original pre-metallic state. The radar packed in, the kids were screaming. Someone chucked up down my shirt collar. I turned up all the lights so the pax wouldn't freak (any more anyway) about the electric blue haze surrounding the aircraft.
After making a controlled contact with mother earth once again, I dished what was left of my passengers to the terminal, and that of my 'plane to the engineers. My second port of call was the bar, but the first was operations to see if they had any more jobs for me......
I suppose it's like masterbating, Mum told us that our hands would drop off, but we still did it anyway <img src="rolleyes.gif" border="0">