Patience is a virtue, and a pain...

So, here I sit at FT. Dix, New Jersey, patiently (god damn it, I mean fucking patiently) awaiting for the day to come when I go home. The sheer amount of unbelievably stupid shit I've put up with over the last year means nothing to these last THREE DAYS. All I want to do is go home. I was fully prepared to sit through endless hours of briefings, being stabbed with needles and answering ridiculously asinine questions for the sake of getting me the fuck out of here. I mean, what's a week, compared to the collective time I've spent away? But I wasn't prepared for the half-days, the well-meant but pointless downtime, the ungodly sedentary pace in which this demobilization process is moving. Seriously, this whole thing could have been cut down to three days, 12 hours each. And there isn't a damn person here who wouldn't happily go through 12 hours of hell for three days straight, if it got us home sooner. 

There are three things that are keeping me from going bat-shit crazy. 1) My deep seated patience, the resounding mantra of," It's almost over. You can make it, you don't actually need hit these morons, however good it would feel." 2) My music. The music brings the memories, and with the memories, it's almost like being home. I can drift through the better days in a cloud of notes, chords and melodies. Believe me, I've got plenty of time to enjoy my selection. 3) The very thought of being home. All of my friends who prayed for my safe keeping, my family and their unfailing support, and the promise of the family that I'm going to become part of.  So much uncertainty, coupled with love and promise.

Three more days...

SGT Slaughter in the making...

I'd like to think that over the last few years, I've mellowed out and dropped a lot of my anger issues. I let things slide, and just try to enjoy the good things. But I still have some anger issues, and sometimes they bubble up into a period of fucktastic rage. So let me share with you a short list of people or groups that I'd like to kill, maim, slaughter, beat, bludgeon or, at the very least, scream at and belittle so badly that they cry.

Let's start with Sniper fucking Hill. This so call "internet provider" is by far the worst fucking corporation alive. It would never survive anywhere but a third world country.  They only seem to work while everyone is AT FUCKING WORK. Their "service" ceases to work the instant I want to call home, check my email, or use said "service" in any way shape or form. I get slow ass connections for the meager price of $110.00 a month, in which I might 5 actual hours of usage over the course of the 30 day period.  Way to go, Sniper Hill. If it wasn't such a pain to continue to run my own internet, I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. If I didn't HATE this country so much, I'd start up my own service just to put you out of business. I would personally like to hit everyone of you with an up-armored HUMVEE.

Then there's the Master Sergeant who think our whole mission here revolves around what he does, which is making sure convoys are ready to roll out. Hey, MSG, sorry to tell you, but that isn't the entirety of my job. I have other things to do other than dance to your every fucking whim. And don't ask me for my professional opinion on a matter, then completely ignore it. Stop jerking yourself off and get out of my office before I hit you with this sledge hammer.

And to the annoying bitch at the gym who has the goddamn audacity to complain that I'm sweating to much, and that some of it's getting on her, and could I please change to a different treadmill? FUCK YOU, I was here first. I don't care what fucking rank you are, you can kiss my sweaty ass.  If it bothers you so goddamn much, YOU fucking move. Or better yet, go run outside. I'll even chase you with a truck as motivation.

Or how about them fucking Hadji's? It's bad enough that I have to be in their god-forsaken country, where their favorite past-time is to launch mortars at us in the middle of the night so that we have to sit in a bunker for three hours.  But the icing on the Hadji cake is that the crew who is SUPPOSED to be cleaning our latrines and shower trailers (they get paid pretty fucking well for it), are instead taking showers in MY GODDAMN SHOWER TRAILER! They close it off, and it stays closed for an hour and a half while they clean it, and then fucking shower in it! And they only seem to do this when I actually need to take a shower. No matter what time of day, when I go to take a shower, those dirty fucking ass-hats have the shower closed off so that they can take a fucking shower and groom themselves. Not that you can tell, because they stink regardless. Take a fucking shower at home. If you don't have running water, save up for a pump. We're not paying you top use our facilities. It's like working at a store, and taking home the merchandise, simply because you work there. It's fucking stealing. It doesn't help that we're already on water rations.  Stop using my fucking shower, or I'll find where you live and burn it down. I'm just saying.

Or how about the transportation company who can't do there own fucking job. It's because of them that I have to get up and 4 AM every morning, to go inspect their convoys. And every time, it's the same goddamn issues. How many times do you need me to tell you that your shit is fucked up? How many times do I have to re-inspect your shit. It's the same process every time, it's not like I'm surprising these idiots with new standards. But these fistful of fucktards can't seem to pull their head out of there ass. So to this special group of window lickers; learn to do your job before I chain you to the back of your trucks and drag you across the desert.

And to my roommate. I don't really have an issue, but sometimes you frustrate the fuck out of me. I'm the one who keeps the room clean, I'm usually the one who picks up food for us, I cook dinner, take out the trash, and usually do the dishes.  Normally, this doesn't bother me. You throw down money for food, and if asked, you'll do the dishes or take out the trash. But, I have to tell you, when you fill the dirty bowls full of soapy water and then perch them precariously on the edge of the table or desk, so that the slightest bump or tremor causes them to topple over, spilling dirty dish water all over the place (including me, right after I had taken a shower), is NOT doing the dishes. I am not amused.

Maybe I'm over-reacting. Maybe I've just been here too long, and with the end so close in sight, it seems like time drags.  Or maybe I really need a fifth of whiskey and some ass... but the truly sad thing is, all this was my day today, and so far, this has been the BEST day of the week.  So maybe I am over-reacting, but you know what?  Fuck you.

Well, F*ck this...

This is a rant, nothing more and nothing less. Couldn't care if you get offended, because hit dogs will holler.

I hate hypocrisy, almost more than anything else. I know I've been hypocritical before, but I'm human, therefor fallible. But those who are constantly hypocritical can lick my ass. How are you going to say one thing and do another? Do you really expect to enforce rules when you can't or won't follow them yourself? Who the fuck do you think you are? The only thing that make the hypocrisy worse is when it's coupled with blatant stupidity. With that comes retardedly stupid ideas and rules, and then you try to enforce these asinine concepts? Well fuck me, I didn't realize that you had to give up chunks of your intelligence to get ahead in this world. When did common sense become an endangered commodity?

And speaking of stupendously idiotic fucktards, I don't give a flying rat's ass if you have a college degree. If what I've seen is any indication, all you need for a degree is a shit ton of money and the ability to breathe and walk at the same time. You might have a degree, but I've been in the army twice as long as you, and I'm more intelligent when I'm passed out drunk than you are on your best day. And learn to use a fucking computer, for the love of God. I mean, it's not fucking rocket science.

User: "I need your help. No one can help me but you, even though I have a college degree and your just an enlisted man. My printer won't print. And my mailbox on Outlook says it full. I need you to come fix this, because I have to send a report to a person in the next office over."

Me: "Well, Sir, first, try turning the printer on. Then, take some of the hundreds of emails you have that you've decided to collect, and get rid of the ones you don't fucking need. All in all though, Sir, it is probably a short in the biological interface. The only fix for that is to remove your head from your ass."

Seriously, this is the kind of shit I deal with. Sometimes I wonder if I've wasted the last ten years of my life. This system is broken. Ass-hats focusing on the stupid, trivial bullshit that makes everyone but themselves miserable, with no regard on to how this affects people.  And then ignoring their own decrees because they can't be bothered. I got my military license suspended because I forgot to carry it with me, and ended up going through a traffic check point. The lazy ass MP's, instead of actually finding people who are violating the traffic rules (in which I've witnessed them break every traffic rule we have), set up a FUCKING CHECKPOINT to check people's licenses. I mean, fuck, I understand you have a quota to fill, but shouldn't they feel a little guilty for cheating? And yes, I fucked up by driving without my license. I accepted my ticket with humility and grace. The MP's aren't the ones who suspended my license. My fucking CoC did. I wish I could walk up to half of them and ask to see their license. 10:1 that most of them don't have it on them. But then that would point out their hypocrisy. God forbid fact and logic get involved with any government agency.

I'm tired, and burnt out, and starting to wonder why I here. And everyone wonders why I'm hell bent on getting out. I'd rather go back to slinging a jack hammer than keep this shit up. Everyone says that it's no better in the civilian world, but here's the difference; I can walk away from a job in the civilian world. If I tried that here, it's called desertion. That's jail time. And I if I went off at a civilian superior, I'd get reprimanded, possibly fired. If I do that here, I get reprimanded and fined and take a pay cut. And if I do it loud and uncouth enough, I could still get jail time. I'm forced to obey orders from people who shouldn't have made it to adulthood. This is what happens when you violate the laws of nature. If you don't stop fucking with the law of natural selection, THE FUCKING IDIOTS END UP IN CHARGE! Stop coddling these mentally deficient ass clowns. They're only dragging us down. And getting college degrees, apparently.

I'm done.

Memories and music

It's 117 degrees outside right now. It's my one day off this week, and I can't even really leave my room. I hate this country. There is absolutely nothing appealing about Iraq. And it's just starting to warm up. I'm dreading the days when it gets up to 140. At night it drops to a low of 90. Fucking 90! That's not a low. I think Allah is so prevalent here because God took one look at this hell hole and walked away.

I've been listening to music more than usual lately. It's one of the few escapes, however brief and fleeting it is. But I haven't been focusing on the heavy, I-want-to-rip-someone's-head-off music, but more on the music that I grew up with. A lot of STP and Seven Mary Three. I've been hooked on this era of music because of the memories linked to it. It's like almost every song that I have from the 90's has a specific memory attached to it.  I been think a lot of home since I've been away, and reliving those days back in Ramona, and all my friends that I haven't seen in years.

Whenever I hear "Come out and Play" by Offspring, I think about David Artadi, and the first time I hung out with him at Camelot. It was raining that weekend, so we spent a lot of time in the cabin listening to CD's that I had brought, or sitting out by the "Lake" and fishing. Trying to ditch his annoying sister...

"Water's Edge", by Seven Mary Three, makes me think of David Jones, and all the time we spent listening to that album that summer, over and over. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, just to go walk around. We thought we were so slick, sneaking out without Mom and Dale catching us...

Almost any STP song reminds me of the road trips to Vacaville, when Miah and I would go see our Dad. I remember the countless hours I spent, creating mix tapes one song and CD at a time. Driving up I-5 in the Mustang, windows down and music blasting...

Listening to Nirvana makes me think of being in my room (the shed) during Christmas time, freezing my ass off, reading one of the countless fantasy books I had. I remember the eclectic X-mas light setup I had, and being bundled up, the smell of incense burning...

I remember that whenever I was angry, I would throw in an Alice in Chains album, and fume to the ragged crooning of Layne Staley. I still do that, to this day.

Listening to Bush brings back the color and feel of a mid-autumn day in Ramona. The warm, full sunlight, the smell of loam beneath the oak and eucalyptus trees.  The color of the green grass slowly fading to brown.

I've been praised for my seemingly astounding ability to remember things. Conversations from years ago, random numbers, sounds and smells, events that I had witnessed, all with sparkling clarity.  I think most of that ability comes from the triggers my mind sets.  There was a time that I felt I could smell the seasons changing, all based of similar smells from seasons past.  I'm just grateful that I have these memories that can be so easily retrieved. I miss Ramona, even though every time I go back, it's changed, and a little of my childhood seems to die. But I miss the quality of the sunlight in autumn, and the smell of the loam. I miss my friends, all the ones still there and all the ones that have stepped out of my life. If I could, I would move back there and raise my family there, because even now, I don't think there are too many better places to do that. 

History

Its no secret that I'm in a relationship with a wonderful woman who has a kid. And unlike other relationships I've had, she had a chance to see who I am, without any pretense or need to impress, and loves me nonetheless, through all my flaws.  And, in turn, I love her.

What this post is about is the child.  I'm a product of a divorce, and while it was never truly easy, my life wasn't hard, and I feel that I turned out well.  I'm in a serious relationship, which means I'm going to be part of this kids life. Sometimes that exhilarates me, and at times it scares me shitless.  I have always wanted to have kids, and this one is adorable beyond belief. I can picture myself helping her with homework, and putting up with sleep-overs and even eventually the dating.  But at the same time, what if I screw up?

I didn't always have the best relationship with my stepdad.  We fought quite a lot, and I spent most of my later childhood trying to avoid his attention. I felt he was overbearing and harsh, and who was he to lay down the rules, when he was never there because of his job?  My mom had a hard time raising us, I think, because we had become independent at a very young age, and with that, very stubborn and possessive of our perceived freedom. I wasn't until I was almost legally an adult before Dale and I seem to come to an understanding.  And now I have to face the very real possibility that I might be heading down the same path.

I plan on getting out of the military after this deployment.  I don't feel that it's right for me anymore, and that I'm not right for it.  But the mannerisms and harsh discipline that has been instilled in me over the last 10 years will linger. I want to be the best father, even if I'm just a stepfather, that I can be.  Hopefully I can learn from my experiences with my own stepdad. Though, being in a similar position now that Dale was in, I have to admit that it took a lot of courage to step in and take up the responsibility of being a male role model for someone else's kids. And he was younger then than I am now.

Part of what scares me is the fact that I will be helping to raise a little girl. This is completely uncharted territory for me. For the most part, my family is boys. I know how to handle little boys. Stern but tolerant of the stupid things boys are apt to do.  But am I going to be able to do that with a girl? I don't really know what to expect, so I feel like I'm ill-prepared.  And as she gets older, am I going to be the one she talks to when her menstrual cycle starts? Probably not, but it's things like that that worry me. And when she becomes a teenager? Dating!?!? If she ends up looking anything like her mom, I'll probably be cleaning a shotgun every night!  And what about that inevitable moment when the kid screams "You're not my father!"? I never thought about how much that had to have hurt my stepdad. Just imagining it causes my heart to shudder. How can you answer that? It's the absolute truth.  You can try to point out that even though you're not the biological parent, you care about and love them just as much, and that you provide for them, but does it really matter to them at that moment? Anger usually causes that statement to come forth, and love and reason usually slide right off of a teenagers ire. At this, I have to tell Dale how sorry I am.  He and I haven't had too many heart-to-heart conversations, but I had to have hurt his feeling numerous times with those callous words.

Is history doomed to repeat itself?  Will I make the same mistakes as my parents did? I'm not blaming them, except for how well I came out. But everyone is fallible, and everyone makes mistakes. Or will I make all new ones? Like I said, I'm scared and exhilarated and the prospect.

So it is...

How life changes so quickly. My life has changed dramatically from what it was just a year ago.  A year ago, I was working on my marriage, had a house and a good job.  Now, I've been separated for almost 11 months, and while my wife has changed her mind after asking me for a divorce, I have decided that I now want the divorce.  So far, the conversations have been pretty emotional, but I stand firm in my decision.  There is too much between us to go back, and I've changed too much.  Before, the constant stress I was under was subtle yet dangerously high.  I don't blame my wife for the stress I was under.  She is a very driven woman, driven to succeed, excel, a live the American dream.  Between her drive, my constant traveling for work, and my natural tendency to inherit mannerisms from those closest to me, I became a living ball of stress and tightened focus.  While this was useful in some cases, that state of being is so unnatural to my normal demeanor, and the influence so total and all-encompassing, that it slowly ate away at who I am. 

In my marital exile, I came to find myself again, due to friends who knew what I needed better than I ever did. They gave me my space, let me talk about my issues in my own time.  They gave me a place to stay, stress free, and if they had had their way, rent free.  I had the time and the environment to let go and get a fresh perspective on my situation. I was separated, unemployed due to lack of federal funding, and crashing in someone's apartment, making me essentially homeless. For most people, this would be a low point in their life. But strangely enough, it was the most calming and restorative period in my life. 

I thought a lot about my marriage, and the woman I had married.  I recalled every moment I could, the bad times and the good.  I gazed with the perfect vision of hindsight onto the path that had led me to this moment.  There are few regrets, and while there are probably moments that could have been handled differently, I fail to see how the outcome would have changed.  Everything points to the fact that my wife and I weren't as good for each other as we had thought.  I had habits that she hated.  She hated the smoking, and when I would drink with my friends and get drunk.  She truly disliked it when I wanted to play video games instead of spending time with her.  I think one of our issues is that we did very little socializing, and while we had some shared hobbies, she didn't really have any of her own, so it was difficult for her when I wanted to do something by myself.  She felt ignored and didn't have anything to do. But in return to my flaws, she had hers that severely irked me.  She seemed incapable of truly relaxing.  Her drive was incessant and consuming.  It was always a steady path onto the next thing, with everything.  She seemed more intent to plow through life towards her destination, whatever it may have been, than to enjoy the journey.

I'm not trying to bash her, or our marriage.  I learned a lot from my relationship, and I have fond memories.  But I felt the need to illustrate some of the differences in us that brought us to now.  She now feels that I need to give her another chance, to try to make our marriage work.  I can't do it. This is the fourth time that we've been separated, and I'm three days from leaving for Iraq.  I know that I'm making the right choice.  If we couldn't make it work before, then I know it won't work this time. I made the decision for her, because she couldn't make up her mind.  I didn't want to, but we don't always get what we want. So it is...

Revelation

Wells, seeing as how I have no readers, I think I'll cut loose.  In light of recent developments in my life, I can't help but turn an introverted eye to the path that has led me here.  Ten years ago I was 18, and I had no doubts about who I was. (Side note: I just erased 30 minutes of boring, irrelevant personal history that was ultimately pointless)


I've spent quite a lot my free time trying to figure out where things went wrong.  I've also been considering the quality of the people that I've surrounded myself with.  In regards to the first part, I don't really think anything went wrong.  I'm starting to believe that it was simply forced, a complicated response in the face of being re-introduced into reality.  Maybe it was pushed to far, but in the end, there is only so far that you can push something until it falls apart from the pressure.  I don't regret the journey.

There once was a period in my life where, in my arrogance, I felt as if I was the center of my social universe.  I was the the manifest pivot, the sun in which all of my friends revolved around.  When I left, they lost their orbit and spun out across the now empty universe, no longer a system of tightly interwoven entities within the social structure.  I've been told more than a few times that this is actually a fact.  And while possibly true, it was arrogant of me to presume.  The pattern supports the theory, but I feel there is something more to it.  I have been shaped by the people that I have chosen to be in my life, and I feel this more keenly than ever.  Quite simply, I have been forever blessed in friends.  Those who love without question, judge without malice, those who hold me up when I lack the strength to stand and light a candle in my darkest moments.  I remember you all vividly, and lament and mourn those who spun out too far to be pulled back into my universe. 

So, in the face of yet another deployment, the walk upon the sands of hell on earth, I smile.  I know who I am again, and I know there are those out there who will stand for me, whether I rise too high or fall into the darkness.