Its Bed Time Anyway

Another long weekend, another trip. Another day spent sitting in various airports. Another entrance into my empty room. Another Sunday night back in my own bed.
My own bed. Its mine, but its not. I haven't had a bed that I felt right in in a long time. My El Paso bed is too firm, my sheets too coarse, my single pillow too flat. The bed at Ralph and Karen's house has a down mattress pad that makes my legs hot and sweaty and the 30 pillows Karen has thoughtful stored there take up half the damn thing. My Iraq bed was just plain nasty as fuck and the bed in my old room was lost to my brother along with the room and half the shit in it.
In a way I've been homeless since I lost that last bed. I always have a bed, but never one that makes you feel how your bed should feel. I don't know exactly how to express it, but its a feeling I had once. I think everyone has it, or at least everyone who has a home, not-just-a-house type thing going on.
I've slept in other's beds and I could tell they felt it. In a few of those beds I felt it a little myself. Not just comfort, but safety and familiarity. Its like your bed is a loved one to some extent.
Maybe that's why letting someone sleep in your bed can sometimes be more awkward than fucking them; sex is sex, but having someone sleep in your bed is something else.

I am considering not posting this because honestly its shit writting. That is to say its worse than the usual shit. It sucks so bad because I'm failing at explaining the point in any meaningful way. I have a few coherent thoughts on what makes the bed I sleep in My bed verus the bed I sleep in, but I have a lot of feelings about it.
I know the feeling of having a bed and I know the feeling of not. I know how it feels to share a bed with someone you love like family and how it feels to share a bed with someone you love-love. And I know the weird feeling of sharing your bed with someone that you kinda feel shouldn't be sleeping in your bed (or you in theirs) no matter what the two of you just did in/on that bed.
I feel it, I just can't figure out how to say it.

5 Cigs

Sometimes I still get the shakes.
Sometimes I'm still spoiling for a fucking fight.

I just went out back to have a before bed smoke and I heard the POG ass motherfuckers who live next door shouting shit at one and other in their hick accents and all I wanted to do was go over there and punch one of them in the face. Fuck them. Fuck them.

I'm getting better. I smoke less and I fight less and I fuck more and drink a little less and I let more shit go then I used to. But I still hate them. I hate their asshole innocence.

I am getting a little better. I don't drink at all on Sunday and I don't get drunk on Monday and I limit myself to 5 beers on Tuesday. But its Wednesday and I'm drunk and I'm just spoiling for a fight.

Fuck them.

"Rosalita" Might Be The Best Song Ever Written

It's hard being a big brother. When you're little it means being the first one to fuck with your younger siblings and the first one to make sure no one else does. "No one fucks with _____ but me!" You get into a few fights for your brother and you beat him up a few times. Simple shit.

But as you get older it gets harder. You have to walk a fine line between teaching them not to make the same mistakes you made and blowing up their shit. Everyone has to be able to learn from other's fuck ups and be free to make their own mistakes at the same time.

Yet before you know it they're asking your advice. Someone wants your help figuring out their life when you just barely have a hold on your own. And honestly what advice can anyone give anyone else? I know me and my life. I know the shit I've been through. I know how I feel and how I think and that's just about it. The rest of it is a craps shoot.

So if you want my advice it boils down to this:

Go for it. Always, always al-fucking-ways go for it. Put 5 g's on Black. Raw-Dog it. Marry her. Take the last ride in. Play Russian Roulette. Eat spicy foods. Beer-bong 12oz of cheap warm vodka. Buy that plane ticket.

If its something you're gonna antagonize over, then go for it. I don't believe in any gods or post-mortem consciousness. If you ask me when we're done, we're done, then that's it; we're done. Sleep without the everlasting dreams and so forth. You got nothing to lose and anything to gain. GO FOR IT.
However;
should I be wrong then I see it this way:

I'll still have my memories. Send me to the highest cloud in heaven or the lowest cave in hell but I'll still be me. And I will always know the words to "Piano Man" and what that means to me. And I'll always know the panic of thinking you're about to be dead. And I'll always know the taste of a woman and how that makes me feel. And I'll always know the smell of Stella Artois in the spring and the feeling of being drunk in Europe. And I'll always know the bottomless feeling inside my belly when I fucked up real bad. And a million billion other little tiny bits of being alive.
If my 'soul' survives after I'm dead and gone then it's gonna have to know those feelings and a fucking trillion others. Otherwise it won't be my soul. And if it ain't my soul then who gives a fuck?

In Through The Nose, Out Through The Mouth

I bought my plane ticket for Friday this afternoon. Cost me a bit of dough, but I think it'll be worth it. I'm heading home to attened the Jon Stewart/Steven Colbert Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear on the 30th.
I have to say from the moment I heard about it I was in. I mean how can you not be? If there's one thing this country needs right now its more sanity. I think a ton of people out there just need to step back and take a deep breathe. Sure I know things are kinda tough right now, but that doesn't mean America is falling apart or China's about to be a superpower or the End Times are around the corner.
Everybody just needs to chill out a little and step back in from off the ledge. Gather some friends or family and sit on a porch somewhere. Go fishing or hiking or to a football game. Have a beer or some cider and just enjoy the day.
Trust me, it helps.

For The Record I'm Not Going To Go On A Shooting Spree

Dear Shippensburg University,
Please stop fucking with me and send my god damn transcripts. This shit is insane. Why would you put a hold on my account, when I haven't attended Ship in almost four years? And what the fuck is the hold for? You sent my transcripts to NOVA back in '07 without any fucking hassle. So what the hell have I done since then to warrent this?
I mean honestly the only thing that comes to mind is when I ran around naked at the Fall Classic in '08. But it was like 2am and I knew everyone.
For whatever reason this absurdity persists I want, I need it to stop. Because if you don't send my transcripts then I don't get in to college for the Spring semester. And if I don't get into college for the Spring semester then I don't get out of the Army in January. And if I don't get out of the Army in January then I stay until May. And if I stay until May I may lose my fucking mind. And losing one's mind is bad, but its worse when one has access to automatic weapons and ungodly amounts of NATO 5.56mm link.

Love,
M. Nappi

You Know Who You Are, You Uncouth Bastard

I bought a candle the other day to improve the smell and ambiance of my rooms. "Garden Rain" is the flavor or smell or whatever. It smells nice, but I wish it was a bit stronger. I mean if I buy a god damn candle I want that shit to make the whole room smell like a garden after a rainstorm. Or whatever.

Some people are of the opinion that candles are girly. This is somewhat wrong. I say somewhat because candles are kinda girly, but only certain types of candles and/or excessive amounts.

A couple of cheap ass candles from Wal-Mart with scents having to do with rain, the seasons or clean laundry is fine. Shit that smells like pie is ok, but only if you really like that kind of pie. Fruits are pretty much off-limits unless its a really random or manly fruit. EXAMPLE: Melon-type fruits. Berries are a big no-go, citrus is on the line and any fruit combination will not fly. Goofy-ass shaped candles are not cool, nor are candle holders of any sort. Groupings of candles with various heights is a no-go and more than 2 candles in a room is suspect. And all candles must be used; that is to say any candle serving a decorative purpose qualifies as femine.

If those basic rules are followed then candles in a man's domicle are just as gender-neutral as proper cooking equipment. Anyone that says otherwise is a classless boor whose abode smells.

College 2: Electric Boogaloo

Who has two thumbs and stands a real chance of getting out of the motha-flippin' Army 5 months early?

THIS GUY!!!!!

Redheads Not Warheads

For those of you keeping score at home today was a major victory in the war for Nappi Becoming A Real Person

It was my first day back at work (shoot me in the face) and it took me damn near fifteen minutes to remember how to put on my pants. (Not to say I'm stupid, I was trying to imply that I'm out of practice with the whole uniform thing. Also my Army pants have a button fly, and like who the fuck has a button fly anymore? You ever try and open a button fly when you're drunk? If its your fly you're gonna end up pissing yourself, if its someone else's fly they might get fed up with the whole thing and second guess letting someone as dumb and drunk as you unbutton their pants. Moving on...) But I got the hang of it and pretty soon the numbing boredom set in and the day progressed like so many others.
When work ended though I knew I needed to go to the store. I was tempted to just go back to my room and get drunk on the half-handle of rum I left in my cabinet before leave then go to bed. BUT I DIDN'T! This is a pretty impressive coup for me.
Instead I went to Wal-Mart and bought food and soap and a new lamp and bedsheets and a candle. And beer. Then I went to the mall and bought new shoes that I have been in need of for about 18 months. After those shennanigans I came home and CLEANED. I cleaned the shit outta my rooms. Then I put my lamp together. Then, and only then did I have a beer.

Reading over what I wrote this appears to be just a boring re-cap of my day. It appears that way beause that is in fact what it is. But its also a big step toward handling my shit. I'm making large steps away from the post-Iraq, binge drinking and personally destructive activites and toward getting my shit together. So go me.

Next Up: Applying to College For The Third And A Half Time In My Life

'Cause I'm Leavin' On A Jet Plane

My month of leave is winding down. Today's Friday. Tommrow's Saturday. Then comes Sunday and one last trip to the airport. Monday morning will find me back at work for the first time in a month.
I suppose it has to happen. And I'm sure it'll be fine. 'Cause as fun as this month has been I never forgot that I don't really live here anymore. Granted I don't live anywhere anymore, but I'm working on it.
Often in life we spend a lot of time looking towards the future, waiting for things to happen. And just as often we look back at the past and things that have already happened. And sometimes in doing so we miss where we are now. But its also possible I think to walk the fine line in the middle.
I'll never forget my past and I'll never stop reflecting on it. Just as I'll never stop looking towards tommrow and my hopes for the future. But I also think I do a pretty alright job of carpe-ing some fucking diem.

Old Crow > Crown Royal

I want to like whiskey. I really, truly do. I want to sit and sip Scotch or Bourbon on the rocks and not even give a fuck.
But I can't.

Whiskey fucking kills me. Kills me fucking dead. I grimace, I choke, I need to use a shot glass. I get into fights or morbidly depressed or punch holes in things I should not punch holes in. But still I persist.

I can drink vodka all day and all night and all the next day. I can drink it cheap and warm or expensive and chilled. I can drink it with boiled shrip and caviar or a Big Mac. It always goes down smooth. I can swig gin from a coffee mug leaning halfway out a fourth story window and hurl fruit at people all in good fun. I can do shots of Everclear and I can face 50/50's of 195 proof moonshine/Redbull from a Nalgene bottle. But fuck me running if Jameson's doesn't make me want to rip out my own throat.

One day though... One day I'll triumph over whiskey. And while I'm sure this sort of thing isn't what schoolteachers and parents mean when they tell kids to set goals for themselves I can't help but feel this qualifies.

New Goal: Drink whiskey.

Why Is Everyone I Know Asleep At 3:30am?

Its quarter to 5 in the morning so of course I'm awake. I've been awake all fucking night. Four hours of sleep, that's all I get a night. Maybe six if I get pass-out drunk and had a long day.

I suppose its partly jet-lag. If you think about it actually I really haven't stopped moving for very long in the past few months.
I don't really mind the lack of sleep though. I mean sleep is over-rated most of the time and its not like a nice comfy bed anyway.

Besides if I don't sleep then I don't dream. I used to never dream but I do a lot now. The dreams aren't really bad, they're almost never nightmares. They're just odd. I dream about normal shit, which is weird because its normal shit that has happened. My dreams are pretty much just memories, some good, some bad. I guess what I'm saying is if I have to dream (and I'm told it is inevitable though I wish it wasn't, I hate dreams) I'd like my dreams to be awesome. Or at least like crazy. I don't want to dream about sitting at work with Hauser or playing in the park with Patty or sitting in the Dallas Airport. Even my sex dreams are just re-plays of me having sex with girls I've already had sex with. Where's the fun in that? I want to nail models and fly through the air and fly a spaceship or something in my dreams.

Maybe when my dreams get more awesome I'll start sleeping more. But until then its Law & Order re-runs and pepperoni sandwiches until dawn.

Its Like A Sorbet For The Soul

I think I'm alright. I'm doing better. I'm happy. Its been a while, a pretty long while since I was really happy.

Since I got back things have been hard. Failing relationships, boredom, loneliness, unrest, lack of sleep and heroic amounts of solo drinking were the cornerstones of most of my time. But spending time back at home relaxing, seeing old and true friends in the RVA, Madison and China has done wonders. Meeting new and interesting people while searching for whatever it is I lost has done wonders. Getting a peak at some of the most beautiful sights this world has to offer, like a smile on a beautiful girl's face, or watching the sunrise over the James River after drinking 24 bottles of Andre, or my little brother's face when he tells me a story, or some of the most senic mountain vistas on the planet in Hunan Province has done wonders.

Thank you everyone who has been a part of these last few months.