Maybe Certain Other People Felt Just Like Me, Which Is Why They Said So

You know something?

Out here I do fight for my meals. I do get my back into my living. I suppose I don't need to fight to prove shit, but I often find myself doing just that. Do I need to be forgiven? I might have said yes only a few short months ago, but recently some things some people very close to me have been saying is giving me pause.

Maybe I fucking don't. Maybe I don't owe anyone shit. Maybe that's what wrong with everybody these days. Nobody is willing to just lay it the fuck out there. Maybe especially now in my life its time to stop being sorry for who I am and the things I've done.

Maybe I don't drink too much. Maybe I am a fucking liar. Maybe I'm a shitty son and a bad friend. Maybe I do judge you. Maybe I am stuck up on certain shit from my past. Maybe sometimes I do want one of these goddamn motherfucking rockets to blast right through my full-of-holes-piece-of-shit-roof and blow me into a thousand little meaty bits. And maybe I don't want to talk about how I feel or how I'm doing because I don't want anyone's sympathy or pity or help.

The Blue Loogie & Operation: Gato

I'm back. I'm back on my FOB, I'm back in my room, I'm back with my platoon and it feels good. It feels good to have my gun back, it feels good to have a job to do and it feels oddly good to be surrounded by people who hate you. I guess that's weird, but its just nice to know where you stand I suppose.
But I wanted to address being back with my platoon. Because I pretty much hate most of them. But I missed them a little. And I'm sure in the years to come when I never see them ever again I will miss them more and more. I know this will happen because it has happened before. Multiple times. And its not just me, other people feel this way and experience the same shit. Just read Salinger (RIP). Most notable of course being the last line of Catcher.
"About all I know is, I sort of miss everybody I told about... Don't ever tell anyone anything. If you do, you start to miss everybody."
That man had it right, fuck he had it right. Everytime I remember something or someone from my past, no matter how much I couldn't fucking stand them at the time I feel a bit of remorse. Not remorse for hating them or whatever, I stand by my decitions, but because I don't see them anymore.
When I was in Westbriar I had some "enemies". R&R lets call her. This enemity lasted through Kilmer and died sometime Freshman year at Madion, where avoiding people you didn't care for became easier than pranks and insults. Yet through it all, and there was a lot, we could depend on each other. Not for any kind of friendship or conventional support, but merely to remain a constant in our drasticly changing lives. Which in itself is a support that is rare, especially when you're young. From age 12 through 18 we were always there. We knew each other's past and knew we didn't like each other, if only because we had since before puberty. I saw her a few years back by chance at a mutual friends house while we were drinking. We sat on a couch all night bullshitting about our childhoods and whatnot and at one point she turned to me and remarked how no matter some things change its good to know others don't. She was right; I still hate her, but damned if I don't miss her.

Stuck Inside FOB Warrior With The McHenry Blues Again

Its past 1am and I am once again waiting on a helio in Kirkuk.

I am constantly amazed by how much time I spend waiting on aircraft since I joined the Army, especially since I am in an Armor Battalion, in an Armor Brigade, in the only Armor Division in the whole US Military. But I suppose if I wasn't a a helicopter it would be a plane, and if it wasn't either of those it would be a convoy. Patience is a virtue they say. To me it seems wasteful of time.

Time. People say they never have enough Time, but I suspect they may be lying to themselves. I just came off of 15 days of the best leave I have ever had and I am convinced it was so good because I made a conscious effort not to waste any of my time at home. I admit that my sleep suffered for it more often than not, and maybe there was a night or two I should I spend doing something other than what I did, but I'm not loosing sleep over it. The point is I made the time to do the things I wanted/needed to do.

It may be however that when one is up against a deadline one feels the press of time more readily than in one's everyday life. And that is when you find yourself claiming you have no time. We put things off until tomorrow and next week and so forth until we turn around and we're too old, too tired, and we have even less time.

I once made that mistake and I shan't make it again. And I know everyone and their mother likes to spout clever quips about carpe-ing some diem, regardless of the fact that most of those people's ideas about seizing days involve things so god-awfully boring I for one would rather stay in bed. But they have the right idea. Life isn't really that short, but its rare we find ourselves in a position to enjoy the fuck out of it. Before we know it we'll be old and cranky and even more pressed for time than we claim to be now.

So I attempt to enjoy my days sitting on the flight-line, looking at every Black Hawk and Kiowa that floats by. If nothing else I can mull over grand memories and day-dream about times yet to come.

I'm all settled at my FOB. I have an address and a room and a bed. We go on missions at least once a day. I get time to go for a run around the helio-pad sometimes. I get at least one meal a day. Its not that bad. Its not that good either. But then again what is?

Its cold here. Not freezing, just cold. And sometimes the wind blows and it makes me think of December in NoVA.

Choose Life?

I had a debate with Scott the other night at dinner. It was about the Zombie Apocolypse. I was saying how fucked we'd be if it came while we were in the Army. (This is due to the military's painfully slow reaction to any event previously unplanned for.) I said that this FOB would go to hell in minutes and "Zach" would be crawling over the T-walls in no time and we'd be dead within the hour. Scott claimed he would not.

See his plan involves grabbing some ammo and getting the fuck outta dodge. Mine involves getting ammo, standing on the wall and being torn apart by zombies.

I find Scott's plan morally reprehensible. Why? What will dying on the wall acomplish? Admittidely not much, if anything, other than peace of mind for myself. It might just be me, but I don't think you should run from an enemy when running and staying to fight end in the same result.

I, unlike many of my peers, have no wish to live in a post-apocolyptic world. I like sleeping in a bed and hot food. I like electricity and Facebook. I like getting drunk and playing frisbee. I like sex and music and movies and my friends not dying. But most people, when they imagine the Z.A. gloss over those parts. The think how great it would be to have the world as a playground, forgetting that it would be devoid of the things they love best and full of terrible apparitions that serve only to remind them of what has been lost. Not to mention a vast majority of them have few, if any, of the skills needed to survive even a week once everything goes to shit.

So Scott et al. can flee to the hills to fight another day, but I plan on buying my farm with my machine gun in hand, screaming like a madman as they tear me limb from limb.

Spin It Back

Some days I miss you a lot.
I guess I just got tired of trying, I guess I still am.
I guess I shouldn't have written you that letter, I guess I said some things that were stupid.
I still have the letter you wrote me, I brought it to Texas and I brought it here to Iraq. I don't know why.
I don't know why I didn't just throw it away or leave it tucked in some drawer.
I don't know why you felt the need to run away.
Maybe I should though, I ran away too. I'm still running.
Maybe you could give me some pointers 'cause it looks like you figured your shit out.
Maybe we weren't as good friends as I thought. Maybe we were and it just wasn't enough.
Sometimes in airports I look for you. I think about what I would do if I saw you.
I wonder what you'd do if you saw me first. A part of me thinks you'd just keep walking.
And even though it has been years since we talked I know how you'd act if I went up to you.
I know what you'd say, I know how you'd say it. I know you'd hug me. And I know that I wouldn't say a damn thing about how you ran away like you tried to do so many times before.
I wouldn't say two words about it because I know you. I always knew you.
I guess its suprising who you become friends with, and how important that friendship becomes.
Some days I miss you a lot.

Here We Go Again

I've been fucking busy. Kinda.
As with everything else in my Army career nothing is ever how it is said to be, nor supposed to be. I'm in Iraq, but not to my end distination. I might not get there for two fucking weeks and I'm not pleased. I can hear gunfire from my rack and I am itching like a man with crabs to get the shit out there.
In other news the Game is afoot. I've been at least partially on the bench for a long time now and while the timing sucks donkey dick it feels good to be playing.
Which might explain why AC has been poping into my mind for the first time since Summer leave. Hmmmm
Great things to be thinking about with a war litterally on my doorstep.