Maybe That's What She Meant

I feel the need to start with a warning so I am not misunderstood here:
The last thing I want is to go back to the past. The last thing I want is to be my younger self. I may have a terminal case of Nostalgia, but please do not confuse that with a practical desire to return to Kilmer or Madison or even Ship. Good? Glad we're on the same page.

Every now and then I very randomly come across a memory that has been dormant for some time. It might be a song or a smell that does it, but most of my memories tied to smells and sounds and sights pop up with some regularity. Often its just out of the blue and unexplainable in origin, coming to me in the shower or during a run. Its a memory that doesn't have the makings of a good story or is topical to any conversation I might have. It rushes up and smacks me in the back of the head without provocation and leaves me (usually) smiling.

I think about my first girlfriend and some of the times we'd spend together. The feeling of being in love for the first time, so bright and new. Fearless of the pitfalls and certain of the outcome in spite of being 16.
I think about riding on the outside of Evan's SUV all the way to school Friday mornings. Or how Freshman year Alex, Chase, Josh and I would walk to Brittney's bus stop for shits and giggles.
I remember how in 6th grade Brittney wore a red shorts/skirt thing that confused me. (Those things still do. Why would you combine shorts and a skirt? Just pick one.)
I remember the very first 'Goats party I went to. How no one even recongized me in real clothes at first. Or how at the very first practice Soap described DRod as "the guy who looks like Jesus" and I knew instantly who he was talking about.
I remember being in the school band at Kilmer and having no idea what the fuck I was doing during the winter concert, but not feeling embaressed at all.

I don't mean to romanticize my youth, as I hope an elder me won't romanticize the current one. I have not forgotten the not-so-nice times, and while I find it easier to laugh at my mistakes I do so without forgetting how painful they were at the time. But there is something to be said for being young and dumb and up for anything.
And the best thing is when I remember though sometimes it sure doesn't feel like it I'm still young, I'm still dumb and there isn't very much I won't give a shot. And even going places you've already been, feeling things you've already felt, playing games you've already played they are all still just as awesome the second (or third or uncounted) time as long as you look upon them with the same passion for life.

Peaks And Valleys Of Different Sorts...

I didn't take this picture, but I wish I had. I wish I was there to seethe sight in person.

I don't understand a lot of this world, (More things in Heaven and Earth indeed...) but I know beauty when I see it. I don't know why its beauty, I don't know what it even means really. But I know how it feels to see something beautiful.

I think landscapes are beautiful. The Grand Canyon, the Alps, the empty desert at sunrise.

I think many women are beautiful. Soft in skin, smooth in motion and always a suprise underneath the surface.

I think life is often beautiful, based purely on the merit that in this moment I exist. I am lucky to be a part of the universe that spawned me in my insignificance among its unending vastness.

I do not see art as beautiful. I do not see poetry or writting to be beautiful. And I do not think of music as beauty. I love them in their own way; I use them, cherish them, even depend on them everyday, but they are not beauty. To me they are products of people who expressed themselves in the best way they could; crying out into the world their joy and pain and lonelyness and satisfaction and horror and pride. When they move me they do so because I understand them, and thus understand something about myself.

But my concept of beauty rarely gives me insight. It moves me while remaining unmoved. To the earth, the universe and most women I pass without note. The mountains continue to stand, I continue to exist and beautiful women keep living their lives without me in most cases.

Still, I consider myself blessed by my existance and the places I've seen and the women I have been lucky enough to know.

You're So Good

Its the littlest things that make me happy sometimes. I think that's what's so tough about being here, the little things I don't really get. Missing Christmas or Thanksgiving or the 4th all suck, but not as much as you'd expect. Dealing with that is pretty easy if you don't dwell on it. You just do your job and when you wake up the next day its no big deal.
But the little things sneak up on you and wear you down. Day in and day out being apart from the life you knew and the people you miss really chips away at your well being until one day you realize how much is gone.
The advantage of it though is when you get even a small bit of what you're missing it makes you so happy. It calms your crazy thoughts and smoothes the rough patches. Your whole day can be brightened by any little thing that slips into your life for even the shortest moment.
Maybe that's what happiness is; little joys that make big ass differences.

Naugle-Style

I need a drink. I need multiple, strong alcoholic drinks. I need gin, swilled from a coffee mug. I need Everclear and Red Bull in a 50/50 mix. I need to down 8oz of Vlady so fast I blackout instantly. I need to get shitty so all my shit drops away. I need to get out of my head for a little bit.
I don't deal so well with things I guess, but I don't really give a fuck. People call me an alcoholic, and it gets harder and harder to refute the claim. But I've stopped caring. I do what I have to do to get by and I am who I am.

Jolley Ranchers Help In Both Cases

My days have taken on a ruckmarch-like quality. One day after another, one foot in front of another. Don't think about the distance, don't speed up or slow down. Just keep marching, just keep living. Don't think about what you're doing, think about where you're going to do. Don't think about the rucksack on your shoulders, don't try and shift the weight. Just keep going.
Wake up, work out, take a nap, read, sit on the computer, sleep a little, do it all over again. And again. And again. Remember to breathe. Remember to eat. Remember to shower.
One foot in front of the other. One day at a time.
Take an ambien, wig out for a while, sleep for 20 hours. Drink a liter of mouthwash, get a raging headache and sloppy drunk, sleep for 12 hours. Huff a can of dust-off, start hearing things, sleep for 8 hours. Work out, get sore, sleep for 6 hours.
Or just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Day after day, week after week.
Keep your head up, back straight, and legs moving. Every step gets you a little farther, every day a little closer.

Sorry I'm Not Sorry E...

Its the 234th birthday of America today and my intention is to write about it somehow. But as often is the case I cannot stop thinking about sex. So I'm going to do my best to keep on track here, but forgive me if I vear off or stop suddenly.

July 4th is my favorite holiday by far. Is it because I love America? Sure, why not. Is it because its in the summertime? That might have a bit to do with it. Is it fireworks and hot dogs? No, even though I love them. The reason I love the 4th so fucking much is because it is one of the few full-blown holidays where I had autonomy from my family.
Lots of holidays are family-affairs. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and such. But my family would make a maditory family event out of New Years and Memorial Day too. And when I was younger I would join the fam in heading down to the Mall and watching the fireworks. But as I got older we missed a few years due to rain and things became a bit less regulated.
So for many years now I've been slying solo when it comes to America's birthday. I've hung out on the Mall until 3am with rando UVa girls, got sun posioning in New Mexico, seen the Vienna fireworks explosion, got conned into working CH by Scotty, flown from Canada to Mexico along the west coast and had sex in E's bed.
So it might wreak of the cliche that a holiday about national freedom has been for me in particular about personal freedom, but I don't really give a shit.

When Will I Learn? Tom Petty Is Always Right.

In spite of the fact that I have been living in a tent with my entire platoon for a month, in spite of the soul-crushing boredom of having honest-to-god nothing to do all day, in spite of the fact that now its summer time so I'm missing some awesome outdoor, day-drinking, tanning and CH-ing opertunities I'm in a pretty alright mood.
I bought a little webbook laptop thing so I have real interent access again. I can talk to my girlfriend with some frequency now. I have ONE MOTHERFUCKING WEEK until I leave Iraq and only a handful of days to suffer through in Kuwait left. I'm done with the grenades and the roadside bombs and begging children. I can see the exit sign here people, and it makes Christmas morning look like a NAMBLA convention.
I'm less than two weeks from returning to aMURica and just a little longer until I step off another plane in VA. And that's the real goal here; a few days of good 'ole fashioned fun, sans clothes with a sexy girl and little bit of liquor.