Operation: WTF (Day 68)

Son, You’ll See the World

…or so that’s what they plug when you go to an Army recruiter’s office.  I’m definitely seeing the world, all right…. one airport at a time.  We have at long last begun our international adventure.  They’ve released us from our minimum security prison in Texas and unleashed us to the four winds.  It took about three hours to get to Maine, a state I’ve always wanted to visit.  Unfortunately, even with the extended layover, we were not allowed to leave the airport.  I did, however, have one of the best veggie burgers I’ve ever eaten in my life.  It was so good, even with the cheese on it.  I got my picture taken by the USO guys.  I keep forgetting to logon to see how horrific I look with mushed up airplane hair.

Then we did something I’ve been wanting to do all my life:  we crossed the Pond.  We flew over the Atlantic into Ireland, another place I’ve always wanted to visit.  I was a huge Cranberries fan as a girl and I’m in love with their accents and the beautiful greenery of the Emerald Isle.  How disappointing for me that we should land at night and I’m not even afforded the slightest view of what the country had to offer.

The flight itself was positively ghastly.  They did us so dirty with that “fill’er up from the back.”  Apparently I had a seat right on the exhaust pipe.  I didn’t think that airplanes had internal exhaust pipe but I managed to find it.  My nose is incredibly sensitive.  I can smell anything from any distance.  Whatever noxious fumes were emanating from the plane had me turning green.  Every time someone passed me they kept asking me if I was all right.  I think the flight attendants were nervous I was going to vomit.  Finally, I begged to be moved and they put me up further in the cabin where I discovered that every man had two seats to himself.  Yeah, sorry for the bastards in the back packed like sardines.

I slept most of the flight to Ireland, but when we arrived the flight commander said, “Hey guys, you’re authorised two beers maximum.”  Ever since Day 1, General Order No. 1 has been in effect:  NO ALCOHOL.  I spent most of my life dry so I’m not fazed by this, but I had recently come to enjoy a glass of wine or three.  I’m not frothing at the mouth like some of my battles are though.  When the guy said we could have a beer I thought it was an excellent opportunity for me to try one out.  I’ve never had a beer before so I thought it would be interesting.  Unfortunately, before we could be set loose upon the airport for the layover, a very mean sergeant-major returning from Afghanistan put the kibosh on that real quick.  No beer.  Oh well, there’s always the ride home.  Hopefully we’ll stop in Germany where I hear the beer is particularly good.

There wasn’t much else to do but explore the duty free shop where I bought the most delectable chocolates I’ve ever eaten in my life:  Butler’s – Purveyors of Happiness.  Oh my goodness, I’m salivating just thinking about it  I’m going to see if I can order online.

The next leg of the flight was overkill.  I’d been sitting for hours.  My butt had lost all feeling.  I made the mistake of watching Paranormal Activity 3 on the plane.  It wasn’t as good as the first two, but it was still pretty fucked up and scary.  I was hiding under my blanket most of the time.  The guy next to me, a soldier from my hometown asked me what I was watching because it looked like I was looking at something pretty frightening.  Then I fell asleep and had nightmares that the evil little girl was standing over me.  It wasn’t the little girl but the flight attendant.

At long last, like 50 hours later ( maybe not that much) we landed in Kuwait.  The heat is behind us so it was rather pleasant outside.  They let us hang out for a little while before we got on a bus to be transported to the base.  By then I was just assed out tired.  There wasn’t much to look at.  The whole terrain is a sandy dessert.  I didn’t see any trees or anything that could indicate life, except a few lights out in the distance as we approached the base.

In true military fashion, despite having flown halfway ‘cross the universe, they made us attend a briefing so that we know how to behave in a warzone.  Really, some of that stuff could have waited but I guess it had to happen at some point.  Then we trucked ourselves over to our living accommodations.

So this is where Sam really fails as a boss.  He is always going on and on about how he takes care of soldiers but I think that he has forgotten the most basic thing:  people really care about how they’re gonna live and how they’re gonna eat.  If the living situation is horrible and the food situation is intolerable, you’re gonna have problems.  Yeah, I get that this place has become a refugee camp but you really can’t have American citizens who are used to Xbox and Starbucks living in such squalor.  I mean, really.  We are in a tent with approximately 50-70 individuals and expected to remain in such a fashion for the better part of a year.  Moreover, we don’t have real beds or any place to keep our stuff.  Am I bitching about it?  Yeah.  Is anything going to change?  Probably not.  It just makes me feel one per cent better to whine about something.

I will say that Sam does know how to have a good time.  He has provided every amenity possible to make me forget about the fact that I will come home to a cot and 49 other triflin’ hoes every night.  There’s karaoke, salsa night, bingo night, a gigantic ass gym, SPINNING CLASSES, a place for me to run, even 5Ks and enough ice cream to sink my battleship, and guess where it’s from… BASKIN ROBBINS.  Seriously, and it’s free.  With lemon cake.  And frosting.

Seriously, Sam can keep all that (except the ice cream) if he gave me a real bed and a room for me (even a roommate, ONE roommate, would not be so bad).  Oh well.  It is what it is.

I know everybody has been watching the news and heard President Obama and his speech.  I don’t know what it means for me.  As long as it doesn’t mess up the money that Sam has promised me, I am okay.  I have plans for all those pennies.  I guess if I have to sleep on a cot in a detention camp on the far side of the world in order to get those pennies, then a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Operation: WTF (Day 23)

I wasn’t able to write anything over the past few days because I’ve been really busy with some classes and training, and then to tell you the truth there really isn’t much to write about.

Everyday is beginning to be like the day before.  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Friday, whatever.  Everyday is the same.  There is no difference.  Last week, somebody exclaimed, “Oh, it’s Friday!”  Okay, what does that mean?  We won’t be going to any clubs or happy hours or out to eat with friends.  On Saturday we will get up early to go to formation just like we did the day before and the day before that.  We will be given a bunch of pointless details and we will work hard in the hot sun and then we will collapse into bed at the end of the night only to get up and start all over again.

I wake up at 500AM.  Do some PT.  Head over to chow to eat a half-cooked omelet, two pieces of either soaking wet or dried up turkey bacon, and a bowl of cereal.  I will come back to the dirty barracks, wash up and get dressed.  Head to formation.  Go to class.  Sit in class.  Fall asleep in class.  Go to chow.  Go back to class.  Go to chow.  Sit in the barracks awaiting further guidance.  Do some more PT.  Take a shower.  Lay in bed.  Go to sleep.

There’s really not much else going on.  The only good thing is that part of our group has gone off to another location to do some additional training.  It has severely reduced the amount of estrogen in the barracks.  Those of us left behind are getting along famously.  No longer is there a puddle of water knee high in the showers.  You can actually get a mirror in the morning so you can wash your face and brush your teeth.  At night, when everybody is back from their duties, there is no loud carrying on.  It’s peaceful.  I don’t even have to sleep with earplugs, because all the heavy snorers are gone.

They have us sequestered on the lonely part of the base where there isn’t much activity for us once we get off duty.  There is a USO but I went over there the other day and discovered how truly wack it is.  It would be awesome if I were a 19 year old male, but since I’m not…. yeah.

The only adventure is to go to the other part of the base if you have an appointment.  You try to milk it for what you can.  You hope the appointment takes longer than necessary.  I hoped they would be behind in schedule so I can sit in the waiting room watching TV.  I am missing Dancing With the Stars.  I wanted to see Nancy Grace and Chaz Bono.  I guess I could YouTube it, but it’s not really the same.

I don’t know how much longer we have here.  We are getting conflicting information.  I think they are doing this on purpose.  You know we should be practising OPSEC when we use our social media.  We already have so many idiots posting things that don’t really have any business being posted.  I think they are purposely keeping us in the dark so nobody spills the beans about what is really going on.  On the other hand, I also think it’s because they themselves have no clue what is going on.  They are in the dark just as much as we are.

So that’s it for right now.  I’ll be sure to write more when I know more myself.

Operation: WTF (Day 2)

Day 2:  Misery Loves Company

Have you ever met a person and just knew right out of the bad that they were sad and lonely, and that because of this their sole purpose in life was to make everyone else sad and lonely?

Today I met the adult version of Charlie Brown.  Okay, this man may be vastly smarter than Charlie, but he is just as sad and lonely, just as screwed up in the head, desperately trying to fit his square self in to a round peg.  The poor dear.  You want to weep for him but you’d rather just punch him in the face.  It is unfortunate that I may have to cultivate an intimate relationship with Charlie.  I had hoped to keep my distance but he is a person who has to have a finger in every pot.  I think it satisfies the misery he felt when he couldn’t find a date to the school prom.

High school was a lifetime ago, Charlie.  Let it go.

Operation: WTF (Day 1)

Day 1:  Take Care of Yourself

Yesterday began day 1 of Operation:  WTF, my adventure to a mysterious part of the universe.  I am attached to a new unit for the duration of the mission that will cease 400 days hence.  It boggles the mind that I actually volunteered for this, but people are motivated by different mechanisms.  There is usually no rhyme or reason to the madness.  Just go with the flow.

So I have learned my first lesson of this mission, and that is I should take care of myself.  Of course, throughout my entire adult life I have been taking care of myself because I’ve noticed that no one will coddle me like me.  Basically, no one gives a shit about me.  It’s just me and my imaginary friend Claire.  I dragged her along for the ride and she’s pissed at me right now.

I should be wary of false and deliberate miscommunication.  I should watch out for complete disinterest and a thorough lack of caring.  I must also brace myself for abject stupidity and an unabashed idiocy that even Forrest Gump would be ashamed.  It’s that bad.  At any rate, I’ll try to keep you abreast of my newest adventure.  I hope that you will journey along with me and keep me company.  If not, oh well, I am getting paid just the same.

 

Misadventures of the Village Idiot #76

Birthday weekend celebration!!!!  What an awesome weekend.

Friday
Okay, Friday wasn’t so awesome but it wasn’t that bad either.  I drilled Friday and Saturday instead of Saturday and Sunday because I had requested a long time ago to take the weekend off.  I had originally planned to be gone the entire weekend but I did not feel like making up both days.

Friday I went into the armoury and helped out with drill preparations.  It actually wasn’t the worst thing ever.  There were a few other soldiers there making up drill and it’s not like the work is mind-numbing or physically taxing.  I even got to go a little bit early.  That’s always a plus.

I planned to go to the movies that night but somehow things just did not go that way.  I ended up sleeping my life away.

Saturday
This was an actual drill day and kind of a day from hell, but a good kind of hell, if there is such a thing.  I don’t know.  The day did not start off well because I received some interesting news.  At the time I received the news I was highly upset but after I had time to sit down let things marinate I decided that it is not bad news at all.  I am just going to take advantage of the opportunity and move on with my life.  I choose not to detail it here because there are other people involved.

Because A was out of the office, I worked in her place.  What a rough job.  I am so glad I did not allow the recruiter to talk me into being a supply person.  He was trying to get me to be supply, an MP or a cook.  Hell no to all three.  Supply is a serious job.  There is so much to know, and everyone did not understand that I was just down there helping out.  I am not a supply expert.  I don’t know how to order things.  I don’t know how things go.  I don’t know any of that.  Everyone just kept coming down harassing me. Now I see why A tells everyone to GTFO.  It’s a headache.  But when I said it was kind of like a hell that is a good kind of hell, I mean because I was busy and it helped the day to go by very quickly.  One minute it was 815 and the next minute it was 345 and time to lock everything up.

There were several people promoted this weekend.  There were the obvious ones, of course.  Then there was one and I was like… hmm…. what was that about?  But what do I know?  Obviously, nothing.  It wasn’t my turn.  I am beginning to feel like it will never be my turn.  The person in front of me was promoted but then they stopped.  I just seem to have the worst luck.  I am always in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I am not one of those people that ends up doing something lucky because they happen to be in the right spot.  That’s just not me.  And now this.  I’m trying not to get frustrated.  I guess my ship will come in some day.

After drill I hung out with Pops for a little while and then I hit the hay early because I had a race in the morning.

Sunday
Birthday!!!  Yippeee!!!  In honour of my 32nd birthday I decided to run the Maryland Half Marathon for the University of Maryland Cancer Center.  It’s my first half and I don’t know what I was thinking.  They say if you can run this many miles than you can run a half and that’s what I was going off.  I woke up Sunday morning stretched and had a cookie, then I drove out to Maple Lawn some new community that I had never heard of.

The weather was perfect for a run.  Cloudy, breezy and cool.  There was a bit of mugginess but it wasn’t overwhelming.  I started to get nervous.  That is a lot of miles to be running:  13.1.  Why do they have to add that .1 like that?  So here’s my race synopsis.

Mile 1:
Kinda pumped because they got the music on blast.  There are 2000 runners out here.  Everyone is full of energy and excitement.  I got this!  But I have to pee.  That’s too bad because it’s gonna be at least two more hours before there’s another toilet.  Nice.

Mile 2:
Conquered the first hill and it was kind of a doozy.  Breathing is all wrong, feel like I’m flopping me feet too hard.  I don’t know if I can do this.  This is only mile 2 and I feel like this?  Maybe I should just quit.

Mile 3:
More hills.  Then I remember what the guy said:  “This is not a flat course because the battle for cancer is not a flat course.”  I am not trying to disrespect cancer victims and survivors, but screw you, guy.  Screw you.

Mile 4:
You run 4 miles all the time.  Why are you acting like you are doing something brand new?  There is a woman in a pink shirt that keeps walking/running past me.  I want to get away from her.

Mile 5:
Finally started to get comfortable.  Since I felt like I did not hydrate well enough in the day preceding, I stopped at every water station.  Pink Shirt Lady has racewalked/ran her way right on past me.

Mile 6:
I need new bras.

Mile 7:
Okay, 8 miles is the furthest I’ve ever run this year, so when I get to 8 I’ll stop running and walk the rest of the way. I also drank gatorade because I was worried about electrolytes.  I actually don’t know when I should really be concerned but I was concerned anyway so I accepted the gatorade.  It was orange flavoured.  Gross.  So now I have nasty orange flavour taste in my mouth for another mile.

Mile 8:
Broads from Fleet Feet in Baltimore are starting to get on my nerves.  First of all, they are talking.  Who can talk?  Obviously they can because they are doing that walk/run thing.  One woman has a watch that is similar to mine and every time it beeped I kept looking at my watch.

Mile 9:
The Fleet Feet bitches are still next to me and they are accompanied by a guy who is obviously in great shape.  He has sprinted up to the finish line and back again, and then all the way back down to mile 7 where another friend of theirs is.  He is also doing jumping jacks at the water stations.  Get the fuck away from me!

Mile 10:
The bottom of my feet hurt like I’ve been shopping for hours, except when I get to the finish line there aren’t gads of new clothes waiting for me.

Mile 11:
These goddamn hills.  My God!  I am finally able to get rid of the Fleet Street women.  They’re way behind me now.  I want to stop running but I don’t know how.

Mile 12:
We’re in this brand new neighbourhood in Maple Lawn.  Nice houses.  That’s fucking great.  Is it over yet?  How come the last mile is the longest?  I think I have a blister.  I’m tired of my iPod.  I’m tired of everything.  I’m hungry.

Mile 13:
I’m glad they thoughtfully put a 13th mile sign, like I can’t see the finish line is around the corner.  They just want to let you know they didn’t forget about that .1.  Seriously, that was the longest tenth of a mile ever.  Really?  I started to burn it out. I ran like an axe murderer was chasing me.  I ran like I was late for dinner.  I ran like Jesus was about to start the Rapture.  I ran like… Forrest fuckin’ Gump, okay.  Like a fool.  I crossed the finish line like I was the champion, like I was the number one winner.

When I was finally able to stop running my feet were not physically moving but my body was still running.  It was an odd sensation.  I had muscles sore and throbbing in places I didn’t even know there were muscles.  It was insane.  Everything hurt.  Even my teeth.  My fingers.  The ends of my toenails.  Very bizarre.

Then a man comes up to me and says, “Did you get a medal?”

Why would I get a medal?  The clock said 2:34:25.  Yes, I had been running for two and a half hours.  They don’t usually give medals to people who place 743rd.  Then he said, “Everybody who finishes gets a medal.”

Oh!  D’uh!  He put the medal on me and I truly felt like a winner.  My body felt like it had gone 12 rounds with Pacquiao but that’s another story.

I am so stiff and sore that I can hardly make it back to the car.  I was parked about 3 minutes from the finish line.  It took me about 15 minutes to get there.  I was afraid to sit down in the car because I felt that I would stiffen up and be stuck in the sitting position for the rest of my life.

This was not the case however.  I got home, showered and immediately got on the foam roller.  This helped recovery but I’m still pretty beat up.

Pops and I went to Founding Farmers for brunch and then I took him back to the Maple Lawn neighbourhood because I thought he might like the houses.  By 5PM I was completely beat but all my friends and family were calling me to wish me happy birthday.  I thought it was awesome.  Even people from whom I did not expect a call managed to get in touch with me.  I just think it’s funny…. but you know what, I don’t feel like turning this into something negative.

Right as I was dozing, someone called me with a job offer.  They want to pay me ……………………………………….. Yeah.

It’s a lot of fucking money but I just don’t know.  You know me and money.  I’m a saver, but I’m not greedy and I don’t need a headache just for an extra dollar.  The job sounds intense and I have been saying to myself that I need to get out of this line of work.  I cannot allow myself to be tantalised away from what I truly want to do.  And that is be a vagabond.  It’s not for everyone but it works for me.

At any rate, I told them I’d think about it.  I’m going to Hawaii and I don’t plan on bringing any stress with me.  I’ll call them when I return.  If the job is still there, we’ll see.  If not, then oh well.  You know how I feel about things like that.

So today is Monday.  I woke up still feeling all wonked out but not as a bad as yesterday.  I’m going to take the next few days off running but soon I will get back on it.  The Big One is October and I plan on having a better physical race experience.  I also want to do another half before then.  I have discovered that I think my favourite distance will be the 10 miler.

Thank you everyone for the wonderful birthday wishes.  My birthday month spectacular has been awesome so far.  Next weekend I will be in Hawaii and the weekend after that I will go to King’s Dominion to put a cap on all this awesomeness.

Another Weekend in the Trenches #9

It was a very easy weekend, no stress, no drama, nothing to make me wish I wasn’t in the army.  Except for the fact that an already difficult decision has become even more difficult, I don’t really have a lot to complain about.  That’s a first.

Saturday, we hung around the armoury to finish up some required briefings.  We had the annual suicide prevention thing.  I know it’s required and the army really thinks it’s doing something by forcing us to sit and watch the same dry powerpoint presentation year after year, but like I said to someone nothing really changes.  The army still has a high suicide rate.  Why is that?  Because nothing ever changes.  The army can go around saying, “Hey, look, we’re doing everything we can,” but the culture of the army is still a culture of “suck it up.”  It’s like an abusive spouse who goes to the anger management meetings and then comes home to beat up his wife.

You can tell that nobody cares because of how we make jokes when we watch SPC Norton go through the same dramatic crap with his girlfriend back home who ends up pregnant with another man’s baby and then wipes out his bank account.  Everybody thinks it’s hilarious but we all know what we’d really do in a situation like that, and it ain’t shoot ourselves in the head.  It’s more like whoop somebody’s ass.  What about homicide prevention?  Wasn’t there a series of murders a few years back with guys coming home to shoot up their wives and kids?

At any rate, we sat through that and then I had a long talk with my sergeant about re-enlisting.  I’m still teetering on the edge of yes, no, maybe so.  I just don’t know what to do.  Then she gave me another option and that only seemed to make things even more complicated.  I also had a very long talk with another specialist who has the same feeling as mine.  She said she was confused.  We both agreed that for some reason it seems like the decision to re-enlist is life-changing.  Yes, of course, it’s life changing because we could end up deployed.  Something could happen to me over there.  Lots of things.  But that’s not necessarily what I mean.  This one decision seems like it’s going to affect everything in my whole life and I don’t know why that is.

She gave me this counseling thing and one of the questions was “are there any outside events in your life that may be affecting your military decision?”  The answer to that is no.  My parents like the fact I’m in the military.  All of my friends are in the military.  My job is military related.  My whole life, childhood and adulthood, has been military.  So why do I feel like it’s such a big deal?  I have lots of plans for my life and I don’t see how staying in the military would be detrimental.  I guess I just can’t shake that feeling.

I heard the reserves is giving out bonuses to prior service so I’m going to talk to the reserve guys this week to see what that’s about.  I have to make sure there are no strings attached like a lengthy contract, an automatic deployment or something else lame.  A couple thousand dollars is great but in all actuality I do not need a couple thousand dollars.  I want it, yes, of course, but wants and needs are two different things.

I guess the bottom line comes down to is that I will re-enlist for at least one year.  I think I just don’t know if it’s going to be the National Guard again or the Reserves.  It is going to be my same MOS, the same unit?  I don’t know.  I’m bored with my MOS.  Even if we did MOS-related training I would probably still be bored with it.  I’m tired of the negativity in our unit.  I am tired of working with people who do not care about anything.  I am tired of people who have crappy attitudes, because I fall in line right with them no matter how hard I try to stay focused.

I was given an opportunity and I think I’m going to take it.  Not because I’m totally psyched about it but because it will be something different, something new.  Sometimes all it takes is a little shake up in your life.  At least, that’s what I am going to tell myself.  Another soldier gave me some information about a potential and very interesting deployment opportunity.  Five years ago I would have been all over it, but now I’m older. My life is very comfortable.  Everything I’ve been working for is coming to a culmination.  Why would I want to screw that up by gallivanting to some war-torn country with all of its bag of tricks and miseries?

I guess a soldier ain’t supposed to think like that but I’m human first and a realist second.

I was asked when we were all going to get together again and hang out like we used to.  Since I have fired myself as the event coordinator, I don’t know when this is going to happen.  It’s not like I don’t want it to happen but it has to be on much different terms.  Things are not the same as they used to be and we should all realise that it’s very difficult to close the door once it’s been opened.  You can never really go back to the way things were.  That’s a shame, but it’s part of life and it’s better to just move on from that and not dwell on the past.

It may not be a direct result of this, but somehow, indirectly, this is why we have zero morale in the unit.  I don’t think very many of us feel like a team.  We are very cliquey and never the twain shall meet.  If we all had to be deployed together, I think we would all be very mistrusting of each other, even more so than we are now.  It’s difficult to work together in that fashion.

So yes, maybe something needs to be done, but I am not sure that I need to be the one to do it.  It needs to be a concerted effort.

At any rate…….. I don’t know how to end this so it’s just over.

It Must Have Been the College Money

It must have been the money for college.  The recruiter talked about things like bonuses and special pay and your mind boggled with the possibilities.  Or maybe it was because you didn’t have any plans after high school.  You lived in a small po-dunk town with very few options and it seemed like a good idea at the time.  All your friends had plans and you didn’t want to be the only one hanging around.  Or maybe college just wasn’t for you and you needed a job skill that was transferable to the real world.  Maybe you just didn’t have anything else to do at the time and your friend talked you into it and you heard that chicks dig guys in uniform.

Or maybe you really do believe in all that stuff about God and country.  You feel a sense of pride when you look at the flag and you love to tell people how American you are.  Maybe because you didn’t ask what your country could do for you but what you could do for your country.  Maybe your father was a soldier.  Maybe your grandfather landed on Omaha.  Maybe you got inspired by 9/11.  You answered the call to take up arms in the name of peace.  Maybe you believed in the War on Terror, or maybe you didn’t even know who Osama ben Laden was before everything went down.  You don’t know anything about weapons of mass destruction.  Maybe Saddam Hussein was really a tyrant.  maybe you don’t even care.  Maybe you’ve never even given it a thought.

You just think about how long it’s been since you’ve been home and how come you haven’t gotten a care package in weeks.  You’re wondering why you volunteered again and what the consequences of that might be.  You’re thinking about the things you’ve seen and the things you’re gonna see.  You wonder if the next time you step outside that wire might be the last time.  You get that feeling in your gut when the convoy has to stop.  And when you make it back in, maybe you thank God and maybe you don’t, because you don’t believe in that kind of stuff.  Whatever the case may be, you’re just glad to be alive.  But then you hear about a buddy of yours in another company.

And you start thinking about getting back home.  You’re tired of waking up at o’dark-thirty.  You’re tired of the crappy food and the limited selection at the PX.  You miss your mom’s apple pie and going for long runs with your dog Spot.  You left the hot rod in the garage and it’s waiting for a fresh coat of paint.  You haven’t worn anything new in months and it doesn’t matter because you’re not going anywhere anyway.

And when you do get back home, maybe you come home to a hero’s welcome and maybe you don’t.  Maybe you’ll be met by protesters.  Maybe the media will follow you around when all you want is a little bit of quiet.  If you come home in one piece you consider yourself lucky.  Your body is in tact but it’s your soul that you have to worry about.  Forget about the fact that your friends and family don’t seem to understand why you keep getting called up.  They don’t know the difference between volunteer and volun-told.  You don’t even know why you’re doing it to yourself.

When you look in the mirror and ask yourself why, you can’t come up with an answer.  Maybe you like the way you look in uniform.  Maybe you’re proud of that patch on your shoulder.  Maybe you’ve achieved a goal after working so hard for so long.  You’re a pilot.  You’re an officer.  You finally got your stripes.  Maybe you feel like you’re apart of something greater than yourself.  Maybe you feel like you’re a member of a team.  Maybe when you’re with your buddies you feel like you finally belong.  Now you have a family.

Or maybe you think about all the sacrifices you’ve had to make.  You’ve missed your tenth anniversary and your wife has moved on.  Your son spoke his first words while you were gone.  You missed your daughter’s prom.  You were supposed to be the maid of honour at your best friend’s wedding.  It seems like everyone has moved on with their lives and you’re still in the same place.  Maybe it’s bittersweet and it is what it is.  Maybe you feel small, like nothing you do is making a difference.  Maybe you feel like nobody cares and you’re alone in the world.

So you go back to what you know.  You’re a Marine.  You’re a soldier.  You’re a sailor.  You’re an airman.  There’s never any rhyme or reason.  If they ask you the question you can’t quite explain it.  Maybe you do it so that someone else won’t have to.  Maybe you do it because it’s the right thing to do.  You don’t know why you care.  You don’t know why you don’t care.  There’s just something in you and you’re going with your gut instinct.

It must have been the college money because there’s no way any sane person would put up with this.  You’re thinking that your recruiter lied to you because all those bonuses and special pay don’t quite make up for all of this.  The sleepless nights, the thanklessness, the melancholy and the stress.  Yet time and time again, you put on that uniform and you head out that door to do your duty.  It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.  You figure, whatever the reasons are, and who knows the reasons why, you did it and now someone else doesn’t have to.

Another Weekend in the Trenches #7

I was seriously in the trenches this drill weekend.  What a roller coaster.  I can’t precisely say how I feel about this weekend; my feelings seem to be all over the place.  I started off dreading its approach because I found myself less and less in the mood to deal with bullshit.  The week before, I was thinking of ways I could get out of it but I was unsuccessful at coming up with a plausible excuse.  I was even more dejected when I found out my platoon sergeant wasn’t coming and then further slapped in the face when another comrade suddenly couldn’t go.  But I guess some things really do happen for a reason.

I was supposed to be assisting with a task but I found myself completely in charge of that task, only it did not work as well as I intended, or maybe it did.  I don’t know.  See how confusing this all is?

The whole weekend was a convergence of fuck ups, mishaps and misunderstandings, splattered over top power struggles, incompetence and sheer stupidity.  It is like with each passing drill weekend, leadership just gets more and more stupid. They make nonsensical plans that are wasteful and time consuming so that nothing real ever gets accomplished.  It’s left morale among the junior troops at an all time low.  I think if we had an option to get out right now at this very moment there would only be like two of us left, and I’m being very generous.

Last night when I was contemplating in my mind what I wanted to write for this log entry, I had a grand design of cussing everybody out, but now I see there is little point in doing so.  All the fire fueling my anger seems to have gone out.  I guess because the way I look at it, I only have 14 more days in the National Guard.  I refuse to let these experiences ruin the plans I’ve set for myself but I admit that it is hard to stay motivated.

We are no longer a team.  Forget about all that Army of One crap that was our motto a few years back.  This is the Army of You Over There and Me Over Here.  The Army of I Don’t Really Give a Shit.  And more and more, I really don’t give a shit, and I don’t want to give into that.  I’m made of sterner stuff.  After my ghastly experience at basic training, I told myself there isn’t anything I can’t get through.  So when I look at it in that light I have to say that this is not as bad as all that.  It’s not even close.

So what if I had to sleep in the arms room for reasons unknown.  It was just kind of bizarre, and for all the complaining that I did (and you know I complain about EVERYTHING, good and bad) it wasn’t even that horrible.  In fact, it was better and exactly what I’d wished for.  I came into the weekend hoping that I would be overly tasked so that I could stay perpetually busy.  I got what I asked for… in spades.  It was quiet and warm.  I wasn’t subject to the ghetto black trash with their loud R&B music and empty conversations.  I didn’t have to deal with anything that I didn’t want to deal with.  I even got my own bathroom.  What more can I ask for?  Except maybe a proper bed.  That was the only downfall.

I guess it’s irrational of me to expect leadership to have fully thought their plans through.  If they wanted a soldier to sleep in the arms room, they might have at least provided a cot.  Instead, I got one of those things that they use to carry injured patients around.  I was about an inch off the ground, but I’ll say that it was better than the sail boat bed I was gonna sleep on in the barracks.  That thing would have hurt my back. It was the stumbling around in the dark that hurt my back.  I was trying to sit down so I could put socks on and I completely missed the chair and fell down hard on on some pole thing.  Luckily no one was around to see me.

At least the weather was better for the range.  When we came out to the range in August I thought I was going to do die but this time around I was more comfortable.  It took me a second to zero because the safety who was assisting me didn’t really know what he was doing.  I think he adjusted my sights in the wrong direction the first couple of times but we did manage to get it right and I was able to zero without losing my mind.  The qualification range was one of the easiest I’ve been on.  I qualified as sharpshooter and I feel redeemed for that fiasco at Fort Pickett at which I could only knock down eight targets at a time.  I’ve been shooting all my life and never have I turned in such a dismal record.  I guess it really is the weather.  When I shoot indoors I do well.  When I shoot in the cold I do well.  When it’s hot, I just fuck up. I no longer hate the M4.

I heard that a number of people didn’t qualify but I think it’s mainly because they only got one chance at the range.  Once again, leadership failed.  Since we are national guard, we don’t get to hit the range as often as active duty.  Not everybody shoots for recreation.  Not everybody has been deployed.  Shooting is a perishable skill.  If you don’t do it often you will not be good at it and you will become lax in the fundamentals.  You have to give these people some time to accomplish the task, but I guess I’m just making too much sense.

After all, I am only an E4, and therefore completely incompetent.

And speaking of incompetence, whose super genius idea was it to conduct a PT test in the early morning hours on a cold, windy day?  That’s setting your troops up for success.  And weighing people after a long weekend of eating MREs and junk food.  Yup, that’s a real winner there.  And they wonder why morale is in the toilet and the suicide rate is high.  The army just doesn’t know how to manage its time and resources well.  I know everybody’s all into the “old school” and the way things have always been done but this is an entirely different generation; an army made up of people who don’t even remember the Vietnam War so why would you continue to preach outmoded and antiquated ideals?  But again… I’m sorry, I’m trying to see the logic.

As far as all army concerns went this weekend, it was a clusterfuck, but I have stopped stressing about things like that.  I complain about it because I like to complain about everything but if I really thought it was that serious I wouldn’t try to excel the way I do.  I still believe in the institution of the army, even if I don’t believe in the methods.  One day, it will be a new army.  I may not live to see it, but it won’t be long before the baby boomers all die off and change can really happen.

That’s enough about that.

As far as other things are concerned, well, it was interesting.  I had a few people come up and talk to me about certain things and I had to tell them that I didn’t have much to say on the subject.  During one of those lame ass briefings we had, one of the sergeants brought up something I had quite forgotten.  What is the opposite of love?  It isn’t hate, like you might think, but apathy.  When you love something you’re putting in time and energy to cultivate that love.  It’s the same with hatred.  You have to actively hate something.  You have to put force into it, effort, thought.  Hate, like love, can be consuming.  But if you’re completely apathetic, indifferent to a situation or someone or something, you don’t really give a damn at all.  You have no thought for it, no energy, no time, no nothing.  It’s just a blank space in your mind.  A void.  When he mentioned that in his brief, I realised that’s how I felt:  completely apathetic.  I feel that way about a lot of things.  I just don’t care.  It can be one way or another and either way my life would still keep moving in the same direction.

I told another friend that we are who our friends are.  We don’t like to admit it and somehow we like to think that we are different, but it’s not true.  You tend to become the people you hang around.  If you’re lucky, the people with whom you chose to spend time will be positive and uplifting.  If you’re really lucky, you’ll be the driving force and they will imitate you (that is, if you have good qualities), but most of us become clones of our friends.  If your friends are pieces of trash you yourself will become a piece of trash.  It will be difficult to distinguish you from the other, and forever more you will be likened to the crap you hang around with.

It’s not like I’m above this.  I’m human like any other, and I notice that I was picking up the same qualities that I’ve always abhorred in others.  When I look in the mirror I want be okay with myself.  I don’t need justification from other people; I need justification from myself, and if I don’t like myself or what I’m becoming there’s a problem and a change needs to be made.  I explained this and I was surprised that there was such agreement in my statement.  It is what it is and I’m okay with that.  I think it’s unfortunate that many people do not themselves realise this.  I also think it’s sad when you indeed do see the problem but you fail to correct it because you are concerned of what others might think.  In the end, you’re only important to yourself.  You are the one who takes care of yourself.  Yes, we have good friends that will be there when we need them but when it all comes down to it, you have to be able to take care of yourself.

I’m okay with that.  Later on, someone else came up to talk to me about cohesion and stability but I had nothing to add to that conversation.  I agreed that something needs to be done, but I don’t think I’m the one that needs to do it.  There’s being the bigger person and then there’s being a punching bag.  I’m not smart enough to be the former and I’m too smart to be the latter.

I just think that ….. well, who really cares what I think?

After drill, SF and I went to McCormick and Schmick’s Seafood Restaurant in DC.  They did their Veteran’s Day special where you get a free meal for serving in the military.  Applebee’s and Subway are doing the same thing on Veteran’s Day, but Applebee’s is common people food and I wouldn’t eat at Subway even if Jesus commanded it.  We invited Maq but she had the kids and wouldn’t come out.  It was nice to hang out after drill to wash away the stresses of the military with several glasses of wine and a mimosa.  Surprisingly, I wasn’t even tired like I usually am after a long drill.  After dinner, I ended up coming home to a Star Trek marathon and a long walk on my treadmill.

I ended the evening with a thought:  he who dies with the most toys still dies.

Optional, For Use On Longer Entries #7

So apparently they are not playing.  I said I wasn’t going to be depressed anymore about this, but then I just spoke to someone and it’s not a game anymore,  2010.

I thought they were going to give us an opportunity to meet the standard, but they have already decided that some people just need to go to Fat Camp anyway without even getting a chance.  I guess their reasoning is that they failed all last year so might as well, but my thing is that it was last year.  This is a whole new year, or whatever.  So you should not bring with you last year’s drama.

That is my method of thinking, but I guess I’m thinking logically again.  You stop that, Specialist.  That’s not the army way.

Now I’m stressed again.  They haven’t said anything to me, but this just highlights the gravity of the situation.  I have never felt so much pressure to be a certain way.  Why can’t we just be happy with ourselves?

Oh wait, the army does not want you to be happy.

I am frustration up again.

Another Weekend in the Trenches #6

What a thoroughly depressing weekend.

I go through these love/hate cycles with the army.  I’ve said before the army is my abusive boyfriend that I’m scared to get rid of.  He beats me up but then tells me he loves me, and I won’t leave him because I think next time is going to be different.

Friday after work I had unusual energy but since the PT test was Saturday morning, I did not want to do anything that would jeopardise my results.  Instead, I spent the evening cleaning my house and watching Lupin III. I did a nice power walk and a couple of sessions of yoga so that I would be at peak operating capacity.

Saturday morning, I got to the track early so I could walk and warm my muscles up.  For some reason I felt nervous, like I wasn’t going to do well, which is absurd, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.  I imagined that I would fall and break a leg or my stomach would cramp up, or something.  I’m always so spastic.

I ended up doing quite well on the PT test.  In fact, it was one of my better tests.  I did 40 push ups, 60 sit ups and did the two mile run in 17:42, or something to that effect.  I scored 248.  I’m pleased with those results.  Naturally, I failed the weight.  I was disappointed about that, but I kind of expected it.  It seems I’m going in two different directions.  I get more physically fit but I get fatter.  How does that work?  I don’t know.  So I have another month of starving myself so I can attempt to make weight so I won’t be sent to Fat Camp in January.

The good thing about the PT test is that it takes up most of the day, but leadership is on this new thing now that we will stay the entire training day because there is a lot of stuff to do.  They say this all the time and I would like to know what all the stuff is that we have to do.  Don’t be vague. I’m going to complain about everything but I will complain less and be less vocal if I knew that there was some actual stuff to be completed and not just you posturing.

We sat in briefings all afternoon and when the briefings were completed, we went outside to PMCS the vehicles, like we always do every month.  Their claim is that we PMCS the vehicles today and we won’t have to do it next month before we go to AP Hill.  It is highly unlikely that we will not PMCS the vehicles again, but there’s nothing that can be done about.  There will be no way to solve world peace and there will be no way to never again PMCS the vehicles.

It was like 1758 when we were released.  I was starving, thoroughly and irritated.  SF came over to cheer me up though.  I’m so glad she’s back.  We got into one of our rounds of talking forever and ever until she had to leave to celebrate her brother’s birthday.  I had originally planned to go out but I got a little bit sleepy.  Getting out so late, I don’t have time to take a nap in the evening before going out.  I wish I would have, then I would not have been in such a shitty mood on Sunday.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed on Sunday because my neighbours decided they wanted to do laundry at 11PM.  I was already in bed when they came to the door.  The boyfriend was like, “I need to wash something for work tomorrow.”  Lack of planning on your part does not mean an emergency on mine.  You know when you have to work.  You know you need that shirt.  I left the house at 6AM that morning and I was gone until 630PM.  You had 12. 5 hours to come down and do your damn laundry.  Even on top of that, I let them come down until around 9.  I ask that they start their last load at 8 so they can finish drying by 9, so I can have some peace and quiet and walk around naked if I want to.

At 11PM, I am on my own personal time.  I told him that he was welcome to come back at 6AM to wash his shirt.  I would be awake, making breakfast at that hour and he would not be disturbing me from my sleep.  He got all huffy and slammed the door.  Did h come back at 6aM?  No he did not.  I guess that shirt wasn’t that serious.

Sunday saw us in more briefings.  Every year it’s the same stuff and I was sitting there regretting that I hadn’t gone out the night before.  I could almost hear the club music reverberating through space beckoning me.  Oh well.  There’s always next weekend.  I spent some time getting to know some of the newer soldiers in our unit.  We’ve gotten a sudden influx of soldiers and they kind of just mill around looking hopeless.

I’m not generally a friendly person, but it was something to do.

I noticed that I am slipping back into old behaviours.  When I worked at TSA, I was quite guilty of allowing other people to dictate my emotions.  I used to let myself get sucked in to whatever was going on in other people’s lives, much to my detriment.  My old friend Crystal told me something very important that made me see the error of my ways.  She said, “You are who your friends are.”  When she first said this to me, I didn’t want to believe it, but I’m a person who spends a lot of time in contemplation.  All at once I saw that she was right.  When I was at TSA, I had to go through a very difficult time cutting people out of my life because they were bringing me down with their attitudes.

I didn’t want to do it because I didn’t want to be without friends, but no friends is better than those type of friends.  It took me a long time to realise this, and I see that I’m doing it to myself again.  When will I learn that I am better off by myself?  When will I learn that I do not need people in my life that will drag me down the same slippery slope of despair they are on?  I have my own problems, I can fuck up my own life.  I don’t need someone else to do it for me.  The fault is all mine, but thankfully I am seeing this sooner rather than later.  This is not going to be a TSA experience where I don’t realise the truth until it’s too late.

I got an award–well, certificate of appreciation, for something I did last year.  If I hadn’t been so upset I might have enjoyed receiving the award, and then on top of that, the award said SERGEANT, something I feel like I’m never going to be.  So on top of being slapped in the face, I also got punched and kicked.  When I got home, I just threw it behind a stack of books because it’s a little bit worthless.  But thanks for asking.

And just to let you know how my abusive boyfriend treats me.  He gives me flowers before beating me up.  After receiving the award, I had to go see my sergeant so I can get my counseling statement for being a big fat pig beast.  Whatever.  I will allow myself to be depressed about this only for the rest of the day.

I was talking to SPC L., one of the new guys in the unit, and I told him that I was trying hard not to get sucked into everybody’s depression and malcontent.  I am unhappy with the unit.  Morale is low.  But I don’t want this to ruin my army experience.  I don’t want to get out of the army and have nothing good to say about the whole thing.  I don’t want all of these things to make up what the army meant to me.  When I look back, I don’t want to have to say, “I joined the army and it was the worst thing ever.”  A friend of mine feels that way about his Marine Corps career.  It’s like a waste of your life.  Everybody is so down.  Nobody has bee promoted.  No matter how good you do, nobody seems to care.  They only harp on the bad things.  They are quick to counsel you for everything negative, but nobody is ever like, “Hey, that was a good job.”

But there’s so much stuff to do.

As a result, most of the soldiers have contracted bad attitudes.  Some are worse than others and it’s contagious.  It’s a cancer that is slowly spreading and infecting all the good tissue.  Once it becomes this bad, the only thing to do is cut off all the bad parts, but the sad thing about the army is that you can’t get rid of the shit so easily.  So you have to carry around the malignant waste and let it destroy everything it touches.

I’m trying hard not to let it touch me.

I let myself fall into a bit of depression this weekend, but I vow that it will go no further.  Next weekend, I will endeavour to inoculate myself against infection, even if it means quarantine.  I have eight months left before I can make a major move.  I didn’t do this shit for nothing.  I still have goals to achieve and miles to go before I sleep.  I don’t need dead weight dragging me down.

Anyway, what’s done is done and thankfully, nobody can control time.  I don’t have to go back to those moments.  I get to keep moving forward.  I get to make new decisions.  I get to choose what to do with the time that is given to me.

That’s a saving grace.  I’ll let myself continue to be depressed about this until tonight.  Tomorrow I will wake up with all of this behind me.  In November I will return with renewed vigour and a sense of direction (oh yeah, and like 10 pounds thinner) so I can accomplish what I set out to do.

I got miles to go before I sleep.
Miles to go before I sleep.

Oh yeah, I forgot to add this.  Hahahahah.  You lunk, you did all that talking but yet once again, you failed to deliver.  I am disappointed in you!  We worked so hard all summer.  You’re supposed to be someone that sets an example for the rest of us.  You’re supposed to be someone that we look up to, but yet, it’s nothing but excuses.  You need to start putting your money where your mouth is.  Your game is weak.  Talk, talk, talk, but never any results.

I will see you at the finish line.