Thirteen Minutes

Generally, when I tell people about my job, they nod appreciatively. I make a difference, they say.

This is true. I have made a difference. Many of those who participated in the opening weeks of the war were former students of mine, long since gone past the point of needing my tutelage, but nevertheless, they learned when they studied with me. And they did well.

Back when I was in the Navy, when I'd tell people what I did then, they'd nod appreciatively and issue exclamations: "Cool!" I had a reasonably sexy job, when I was in the Navy. Not SEAL Team sexy, not fighter jock sexy, but Big Explosion Sexy. My handiwork on CNN sexy. Wolf Blitzer Sitting On A Baghdad Rooftop And Silently Watching The Show sexy.

But right now, with something less than thirteen minutes left on the time of flight (BOOM!) for this simulation, on the Wednesday (BOOM!) afternoon before Thanks(BOOM!)giving(BOOM!), I'm thinking (BOOM!) that this is a little...no, a lot less exciting than watching paint dry.

And actually, that's not such a bad thing.

BOOM!