at least I had a good holiday

Switching meds is not fun. The nurse wanted to try SSRIs again, which have been nothing but unpleasant in the past. I may or may not be allergic. We've started low and slow on one that isn't so nasty. It will be awhile before I'm up at an effective dose again.

In the meantime, life sucks. I am back to that "please let me be, I don't want to do anything" mode.

I wish the Army would hurry up and fire me.

not rock bottom

For all the writing I haven't been doing, you'd think I would be out and about in this world. There are four places I go to on a semi-regular basis: work, the pet store, the VA, and the Physics Department -- in that order. I'm beginning to wonder if my home has become more of a self-inflicted prison rather than a safe place.

I didn't think that going out into the world after Walter Reed would be a big deal. Sitting in the doctor's office is anxiety-inducing, and my Primary Care Manager looks at my knee bouncing up and down with a very concerned look. She has a hard time accepting that it isn't her that's making me anxious. The grocery store and most other retail places are outright uncomfortable. I go numb. I know where I am, I can talk to you, but I don't exactly feel "there". I move slow and feel weak, worrying that I will collapse. Without the dog, it's very difficult to be "there". My parents took me to a concert just last week. Dad checked at least twice to make sure my knee wasn't hitting the back of the seat in front of me. I don't go out with friends -- I haven't even met up with my civilian friends yet. Life is lived in "safe" places: home, work and the VA. And I hate it. I want my life back.

Wolf is incredibly patient, constantly telling me that I'm getting better. My definition of better is not being tweaked out and anxious about stupid stuff. His definition of better is how often I smile, how long I can stand to be in a store, how I interact with people, how much stamina I have -- not things like my current dosage of meds or how much a jump at a noise.

On several occasions, Wolf and I have had conversations about how bad it's been. He left the desert in March and he could tell that I wasn't doing too good then. Aramis left for another base in July. Before he left, he asked if I would be okay. I knew I wouldn't. I'm pretty sure he knew as well. We've never talked about it. Rock bottom was late July-early August. And I really do mean rock bottom. It was a very slow and painful downward spiral that was drawn out over several months, and we all knew it.

This is not rock bottom. I am not crying myself to sleep. I am not wishing to disappear. I am not keeping it all to myself anymore. Most importantly, I am not lying to the doctors.

This is not rock bottom.

Mental Health PostSecret

I did actually have both a Chaplain and a nurse tell me something very similar to that. They only made me cry harder.

changes, for better or worse

The things I wished had never changed:
-the ability to go out alone without worrying about my well-being
-thinking that it was impossible to jump at the sight of my own shadow
-trusting male senior NCOs soldiers, regardless of rank, without question
-the possibility of obtaining a pilot's license for myself

The things I'm glad I did change:
-ditching MeuExAmor
-going no-contact with several men that were once in my life
-my opinion about psych medication
-learning to stand up for myself

The things I want to change:
-having any kind of feelings for my nephew
-my fear and trust issues with relationships
-not jumping at every single thing that startles me
-convincing my brain that the world isn't all that bad out there

home at last

I've been home for nearly two weeks now. It's been a bit of an adjustment.

Until I'm done with the military or treatment, whichever comes first, I'm still active duty. My primary place of duty is the VA clinic in town for appointments. If I'm not there, I'm at the job site. No outside employment. Not allowed to go back to school full time. I call my platoon sergeant every single day, my case manager multiple times a week, and I'll probably be talking to the social worker about once a week. There was no more than a day off of working and appointments when I first got home. No travel outside of a 200 mile radius without putting in leave. And don't dare ask for a pass -- it's probably not going to be approved anyways.

I know that I shouldn't complain. I'm home, I'm still getting paid, and I am not spending a cent on medical treatment. It's just not the idea of home that I'm used to.

My family -- well, most of them -- have been awesome. There was a problem when my brother came to visit and our parents stepped in and dealt with it. The holidays are going to be a bit interesting, and not in the good way.

Going back to campus was easier than expected. Bossman was so happy to see me. Someone had mentioned that he probably was lonely, with most of the gang graduated or otherwise busy. One of the professors assured me that I was no different in the eyes of the department and that as far as most were concerned I did my time and came back. Which is always reassuring.

Even though I know it's not possible, part of me wishes that it was like how it was before I left. Life moves on. And that's okay.

The goal is to get better, not to roll back the clock.

the good, the bad, the ugly

The Good:
-The sound of rain is still surprising.
-I'm no longer terrified of the metro. (Just don't add crowds.)
-I've remembered how fun it is to step on the really crunchy leaves.
-I will be home for the holidays.

The Bad:
-I still carry the tiny anti-anxiety pills. I hope I don't have a drug test any time soon.
-I have been awakened in the middle of the night by someone else's PTSD-related nightmares. More than once.
-I can tell when he's dreaming about Iraq, and I know when to wake him up.
-I don't know if I'm ready to face the not-so-supportive members of my family. I don't know if I can politely avoid talking about my issues and treatment.

The Ugly:
-A knock on the door makes me scream. It always startles everyone involved.
-He will not leave the room unless he has to after I go home.
-I'm afraid that I won't be able to go out alone after I leave.
-He knows what the roll of tape is for. I think it scares him.

Military Secrets

These are all postcards from the community art project known as PostSecret. People are invited to write a secret they have never shared and anonymously send it in.

The following are postcards that I either saw in the PostSecret books or floating around the web. They all are in one way or another related to Operation Iraqi Freedom or military service. My goal is to post military related cards as they come out, as PostSecret does not have an archive.

A note on two of the cards that share thoughts of going to Iraq and never coming back: this is more common than you realize. There are serious mental health issues in military community that never get addressed because of the stigma of getting help. Some seek help, but most do not. No one wants to be thought of as crazy. Not all commands know and understand mental health and treatments that are available. There are soldiers every day that at least think about crawling into a bunker, a port a john, or some other secluded spot with a loaded weapon and never seeing their loved ones again. And those are just the ones in theater. PTSD can kill someone slowly once they're stateside when they turn to alcohol or drugs to deal with it.

Help is available. All you have to do is ask. If necessary, demand it. Take yourself in. The only person that can take care of you is yourself.

the runt

I can't wait to meet you.

coming to terms

In a way, I've come to terms with being in a psych ward. Yes, people have called me crazy both in jest and maliciously. My reply? I'm not in denial about it and am receiving treatment. Which is more than a lot of people can say.

My family doesn't know much about what brought me here. They know I was MEDEVAC'd. They know I'm being treated for PTSD and depression. They know pieces of what happened. I don't think I can bring myself to tell them the whole story and I'm not sure how long I can get away with that. For now they're happy that I'm coming home to continue treatment.

A few months after I start the treatment at home, someone in my treatment team will have to make a decision about my disposition. Do I get a permanent profile and go back to duty or do I go in front of a Medical Board to plead my case and possibly chaptered out? It's not my decision -- I really don't care how it goes so long as it's done in a way that I will never be deployed again. My normal drilling status as a Guardsman expires in late July, and after that I have two years of inactive status where I can be (and a lot of people are) pulled for deployment.

There will be no reenlistment. My Army career will end with this -- the hospitals, the doctors, the probing questions, the introspection.

Believe it or not, I'm okay with that.

malicious acts

During my visit and all of our lounging around and being lazy, we spent time in Wolf's barracks. Two of the three nights I visited the barracks went just fine.

The third night, a Friday, didn't go so well. It started with someone knocking a broom around on walls and floors. When we stepped out into the hall and asked who did it, all we got were shrugs and "I don't knows". I caught the soldier messing with a broom, told him that I have PTSD and asked him to stop pounding on things. His response was "What's PTSD? Oh that post-traumatic thingy..." (We're all required to have training on PTSD so there's really no excuse to not know what it is.) The banging continued. It was making me jumpy so we made the brooms disappear. All was quiet for a few hours, probably because of the drinking going on downstairs.

Then someone came upstairs and pounded on the door. I screamed. Barracks went silent. No one came to check to see what was going on. Another long period of quiet. More banging on the door, another scream from me. I was beyond freaked out at that point. The banging progressed to someone just yelling up the stairs... and me still screaming. Hyper-arousal kicked in, and I was sitting on the bed staring at the door, straining to listen for someone sneaking up the stairs, and not really able to talk or move.

Wolf went out to investigate after each incident. He told them that I have PTSD, stop banging and yelling, and that I was freaking out so bad that he was afraid that it would take an ambulance to get me out of there. He also asked who was doing the banging, the yelling. No one in the group confessed. No one told. And I know they all heard me scream.

After I finally got out of the barracks (it took an hour and a half), we stopped by the staff duty desk to report what happened. A few of the people from the group downstairs had walked over as well. The sergeant on duty asked them what happened. Want to what guess their answer was? "Nothing." When what was really going on could have been marked up as harassment. And that was not even including the underage drinking.

I still can't believe that they would protect themselves and each other when they knew that person was being malicious to another person.

We weren't asking for much -- just for the banging and shouting to stop. We both thought that it was a reasonable request.

I hope that that night, my screams stays in at least one of their minds. I hope they think about what happened. And, as terrible as it is to say, I hope it haunts them.

I really want to believe him

I survived the bus trip -- a very nerve wrecking solo event -- and made it there and back without a problem. I enjoyed a very lazy week, an expensive dinner, and huge pancakes with Wolf. We played lots of computer games, bought too many books, treated ourselves to goodies, and had several long conversations.

He said that I did very well. Apparently he was expecting the worst: unable to sit through a meal at a restaurant, overwhelming anxiety in crowds, jumping at every little noise, breaking down in tears.

My definition of doing well is different. It is not one that includes flashbacks or pelvic pain. There are no mad dashes for the car after feeling trapped in the commissary. There would not be an emergency bottle of tranquilizers in my camera bag. And I would not scream, yell, or jump when startled.

Wolf constantly reassures me that it will get better. I really want to believe him.

Pour toi mon amour - Prevert

Je suis allé au marché aux oiseaux
Et j'ai acheté des oiseaux
Pour toi
mon amour
Je suis allé au marché aux fleurs
Et j'ai acheté des fleurs
Pour toi
mon amour
Je suis allé au marché à la ferraille
Et j'ai acheté des chaînes
De lourdes chaînes
Pour toi
mon amour
Et je suis allé au marché aux esclaves
Et je t'ai cherchée
Mais je ne t'ai pas trouvée
mon amour

at what cost?

-Why did you volunteer?
-Better me than someone that didn't want to be there.
-That's the best answer I've heard.

Even though I did end up at Walter Reed and didn't come home with everyone else, I still think I made the right choice. That I picked the right plane. That I gave it my all, that I did my best. I am not ashamed of being here -- I'm ashamed of what happened. But there's not much I can do about that now.

Sometimes I wonder if I would have stayed as long as I did if my sergeant had paid attention actually did something, anything. In retrospect, it was Sergeant Major that was trying to throw me a line, trying to help me. Always asking "Techno, what's wrong? Do you want to go home?" But it was not about going home. It was never about going home.

I wanted to stay. I almost made it. But at what cost?

being a good friend

I watched him have (what I think was) a manic episode last night.

Music pumping, he's bobbing around the kitchenette between cooking dinner and talking to himself. Out loud. Almost as if he was holding a one-sided conversation.

Later, he's playing a driving game on Xbox. Nothing about that is out of the ordinary -- he plays while laying in bed every night. Only he's standing on the bed, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and yelling and pointing at the TV.

His thoughts are racing, his pupils are dilated, he's full of energy, he doesn't want to calm down. It's a rush.

After he pops some pills, as he's finally coming down, he slows... and shakes.

The next day he says that he doesn't think what happened was a problem; that it was controlled. It was barely controlled. I was waiting for the seams to burst.

Honestly, I was afraid. I wanted him to go to the ER. But no, there's no problem here, we don't need to go to the ER.

When I reported it to his Point of Contact, I was shaking. Anxious. I wouldn't have told her if I wasn't concerned about him. He needs to get well but he doesn't think there's a problem at all.
The tech thanked me, told me that he is lucky to have a friend who is so concerned.

I left wondering if my actions would put him back in the inpatient ward. Even so, he might just get the help he needs.

he's been inside the wire for too long

-Why aren't there any Burger Kings around here?
-I don't know. Haven't seen one yet.
-Oh wait! There's one on the FOB.
-*moment of silence*
-Did I just say FOB?
-Yeah, yeah, you did. Walter Reed is not a FOB. Walter Reed is not a f&%@ing FOB.

keeping in touch

I am going to take a bus to see Wolf. It's been so long.

Fuzz is complaining that I still haven't seen Nephew. He asked me if friends come before family. I don't think he'll ever understand.

Ky is back to three days off a week, the lucky guy. I'm glad that he's doing much better.

No word from Aramis. He doesn't know how upset it makes me. He also doesn't know the real reason why I was medevac'd. (I think I've stopped caring.)

Driver was busted for pot, two miles from home. If he had gone to Europe, would that have happened?

I may have not seen combat, but...

Wednesday I start to go downhill again.

Thursday was a day of freedom from the ward to sit through a ceremony doped up on anti-anxiety pills.

Friday the doctor asks if I want to go back to the inpatient ward. They begin to wonder if there is a PTSD component to all of this.

Well, duh.

this is your brain

On the right is your brain.

On the left is your brain on war.

Any questions?

stop it

-Stop it.
-Stop what?
-Scanning the metro car. Stop it.
-I can't help it.
-What are you looking for?
-Anything suspicious. Anything that doesn't belong.
-This isn't Iraq. We're safe here.
-*shakes head*

He nodded off on the way back, only to slip into a flashback.

our reality

Is it easier to accept a Wounded Warrior as one that is visibly wounded than those of us whose wounds can't be seen?

Is it easier to offer help to someone in a wheelchair compared to helping someone who is having a flashback?

Is it easier to understand the frustration of new limitations than fears of everyday things?

What will you do when we jump into the bushes when we hear fireworks? When we can't sit still, relax, let our guard down? When we say we can't go out tonight because we're afraid that it'll be too crowded? When we wake up in the middle of the night screaming?

This is our reality. Can you accept it?

panic attack

-I got you Techno, I got you. It's okay, it's okay. Breathe. Deep breaths. That's it. Where are you?
-My room.
-Who else is here?
-You.
-How do you feel?
-(no response)
-Techno, how do you feel?
-Terrified.

not the same person

I'm feeling a bit better. The shaking is mostly gone -- I can hold my camera steady again. I don't sway side-to-side and I'm not walking through the hallways afraid that I'm going to faint. Small things, but important.

They keep asking me if I feel like the medication is working. I have no answer for them. I take my medication like I'm supposed to, but how can I tell if it's working or not? A pill or two may make my brain behave or even help me sleep, but there's no pill to take the guilt and anger away, to make me stop missing my friends, to make me feel normal again. How do you answer a question like that?

All I know is that I am definitely not the same person that got on that plane.

feel so detached

I had a dream the other night that I was being MEDEVAC'd again. Only instead of going from Germany to Walter Reed, I was going in the opposite direction. Across the ocean, closer to the desert that had been home for so many months.

This doesn't feel real. The hospital, the daily meetings with doctors, the pills -- none of it. I think a part of me is still expecting to wake up in my tiny space etched out of the beehive of a barracks we were living in. When I look outside, it isn't a barren landscape of sand, scrub, Army-issue tents and drab buildings that greets me. Outside is green green grass, tall thick trees, and gray squirrels darting back and forth.

If this is what I had been missing so much, why do I feel so detached?

not a perfect world

A real friend is someone who walks with you to the hospital in the middle of the night just to make sure you're okay, without knowing what is wrong.

Not many people can do that.

Not many people have to do that.

No one should have to do that.

But this isn't exactly a perfect world.

(Thank you, even though it has taken me far away from you now.)

leaving them behind

The hardest thing about leaving the desert was leaving the guys behind. Although the reality of it was they were already gone in one sense or another. That happens when the Army dictates where you're going to work, when you're going to work, and what's involved in that job. Your life is in someone else's hands. Just a part of life out there. A part I don't miss much.

I think of them often, regardless of where they are now. Is Driver still having nightmares of his convoy being attacked and his friends killed by insurgents? Will his driving in the States be rather eventless? Has the base where Aramis is stationed been mortared lately? Can he sleep with the jets taking off constantly? Who has Ky's back now? Who is going to be his shoulder to lean on? Do they even think of me?

It's funny how three flights and three weeks changes your world completely. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, but it's for the best.

Here's the question that bothers me the most: is it harder to be seperated but in the same time zone as Wolf and my mom or to be an ocean away from Ky and Aramis?

I'm still trying to figure that one out.

blurry but beautiful

I wander around in the rose garden pausing to snap photos. For a brief period of time, I'm not looking over my shoulder -- only through the viewfinder. Other than the birds and the cicadas it is quiet. No loud noises. No shouts. Nothing to make me jump out of my skin.

Stopping a rosebush, I force myself to stand still and stop rocking from foot to foot. Frame the shot, focus the sweet spot, press the shutter. Except my hands just can't stop shaking. The camera picks up every tiny tremor.

Cameras don't lie.

trying to heal

I am in the same time zone as my mother, and I have refused to see her for two weekends in a row now. My parents are coming next weekend -- I can't delay the inevitable.

I jump at my own shadow. At car horns blowing unexpectedly. When someone comes up behind me.

My hands shake. What were once smooth movements, mindless things to do now are jerky and take more concentration. Writing. Typing. Using a mouse. Eating with chopsticks. What's worse is that I'm not entirely sure if it's from the medication or something else.

It's not unusual for me to see injured veterans here. Some have more than one prosthesis. Some are badly scarred. Many casts, many wheelchairs, many canes.

When the plane landed and liaisons, chaplains, medical personnel and unloading crew where pouring in, someone asked me what happened to me. Why am I here. It's a question that's following me everywhere these days.

I don't want to talk about it.

And this is not how I imagined my return to the States.

the great coming home query

I had a conversation earlier today with a friend back home. Curious, she asked me a series of questions. I've expanded upon my answers here.

When will you be home?

Soon, but not soon enough.

Are you excited to come home?

I guess. It's a big change. I've been away from home for a year. My friends here won't be a short bus ride, a phone call away. Here I have a nice little routine going, and I have very few things to worry about.

Do you miss home?

Yes. But there have been many changes. For example, my brother has moved out, married, and had a son -- not necessarily in that order. Which means that I have a nephew that I have yet to meet. My peers at my civilian job have moved on to internships or beginnings of careers. They won't be there joking around and slowly bringing one of Bossman's latest creations to life. I haven't been the greatest in staying in touch with my civilian friends, and I can think of only a few that actually know when I'm coming home. And the baby cousins that I cherish are going to have grown so much. I'm still afraid that they won't recognize me.

On the other hand, I miss my mom and I am not embarrassed to admit that. Calling her frequently isn't the same as sitting down for her homemade Sunday breakfasts together. I miss stumbling upon rabbits and squirrels in my backyard. I miss riding behind my dad on his motorcycle. I miss walking through the very alive park-like campus green. I miss the gentle lilt of French professor's accents. I miss flying with Bossman. I miss the dome, the not-always-working-perfectly equipment, the inky darkness, the art of creating a show. All of that -- and more -- is home to me.

I want to get back into the swing of things, even though I know it will be a difficult and possibly painful process.

Do you like being in the military?

I'm proud to have served over here in the sandbox. It was something that may have never happened because of where I was and what I did before I volunteered for this. The unit I came from -- a band unit -- is very proud to have us over here as well.

What about your friends from home?

I haven't kept in contact with more of them like I would have liked to. I am definitely looking forward to catching up with them. However, I doubt that many of them can really understand what this deployment thing is all about.

That's okay. That's why I have my friends from over here, with whom I will hopefully keep up correspondence better.

When are you going to Europe?

My State just adopted a new policy, and my unit will be the first one affected by it. We still don't have drill for 90 days, but we have a recall at 30 and 60 days so we can be given the opportunity to have a medical and mental health check-up as well as help if we need it. I have to plan around that, if I am going to Europe.

Driver already bought airline tickets and is planning to in Europe for two months. We were still planning on traveling part of the way together.

If I go, I will only be in country from two to four weeks which is shorter than my original plan. And I need time with my family first.

Plans for school?

This November I'll enroll for the Spring semester. I have two classes to retake, and lots more to catch up on. With luck, I'll have a kind soul or two who will guide me through the paperwork required.

Are you going work at the planetarium when you return?

Because it's a student job, I won't be able to work for money until I return to class. But I know that I'll be welcomed with open arms (and special projects) if I come in before then.

the mandatory medical update

Three scopes, countless pelvic exams, pictures and video of a handful of organs, two scars, two trips off base, one teary night in the hospital ward, several prescriptions, and nearly two months later I can now say that all of the scary stuff has been ruled out.

Which means that "I'll help you have a baby" is now in the Lame Pick-Up Lines Hall of Fame.

Nice try, guys.

shotgun wedding

I stumbled upon this quote in the comments section of Funny Mom's Blog

One point I whole-heartedly disagree with is that a wedding belongs to the bride and groom. They think it's their day. Everyone tells them it's their day. Au contraire. It's the day that officially, and dramatically changes the way two families have operated for a long time. It's the day when complications begin, and negotiations get underway for equal time at holidays and other family events. Sure, most of the pictures will be taken of the newly married couple, but the rest of the pictures are those people, your new, larger family and friends who are sizing up the situation and wondering how this will affect them.

And on that note, I'd like to mention my brother is getting married on Sunday. I was told this on Tuesday. I'm guessing that my mother found out Monday.

I'm obviously not going. Truthfully, I'm not even sure if I was formally invited. It's not like anyone else got paper invitations, either. Our grandparents already had plans and won't be attending. Other family members are probably going to be in the same situation. They, at least, have the option of going if they really wanted to. I can't just walk up to my Sergeant Major and ask for a few days off, buy a plane ticket, and fly home.

How hard is it to wait a few more weeks?

four winds

Dear Army,

Please stop taking my friends away. But thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet them in the first place.

Too bad that once we leave this place we will be scattered to the four winds.

only two holes

I am moving around slowly, painfully. But it's something, which is better than nothing right now.

When I woke up, the first question I asked was how many holes they cut. Two. My doctor didn't see me for hours afterwards. I laid in bed for hours wondering why there were only two holes. Was it that bad that nothing could be done? Was there anything to be found. What they found was a normal female pelvis. Which means another specialist, more tests.

A male nurse talked to me while I was in the ward. He mentioned how I must be frustrated by now. Apparently there have been ten cases in the last six months of females with pelvic pain but no apparent cause. The end of the road for me may be Mental Health, again.

Frustrated is an understatement.

this is how the Army works

Sitting at the bus stop, spending our last few minutes together for what will seem like forever, he turns to me and asks "are you going to be alright with me gone?" I have no idea of how to answer him. I think of Driver's long missions, Wolf's rants about privates fresh out of training, Ky's all-night shifts... but I don't mention them. Instead I stutter and stumble over my words. "I'm bummed. It sucks."

What am I supposed to do? Ask him to stay, just for a few more days? Pout? Beg? The Army doesn't work like that. He is needed elsewhere and he will go. I am needed here and I will stay. This is how the Army works. Mission first. Drive on, Soldier, drive on.

less than sixty days left in a combat zone

Despite the heat, the sun is still setting early here. It's still rather warm but tolerable to be outside. On any given night as Aramis and I walk around our little neighborhood of sorts we'll pass games of sand volleyball, sober karaoke, groups of people doing complicated-looking line dances, some random guy strumming his guitar, smokers milling around outside of buildings, couples huddled around laptops, friends having a good time. It's times like those that makes it easy to forget that yes, I really am in a combat zone.

On the other hand, there are numerous reminders of where I am and why I'm here. A sprawling cavernous tent hospital, complete with its own frequently used helo pad and armory. Drills, alarms, giant voice instructions, body armor and protective masks. Explosions that make me want to crawl under my desk and hide. The occasional metal-metal click of someone reassembling an M16. Weapons in the chow hall, the PX, the gym, the MWR. Sandstorms that stop convoys. Bases that run out of food. And that blasted fence.

I have less than sixty days left in this place. It's both nice and strange to be able to say that.

this is definitely not nothing

I feel like a ping pong ball being bounced around different sections of Troop Medical Care and the hospital. Come in, see this provider, have these tests done. Tests and labs come back negative. Return with no improvement, see a different provider that refers you to a specialist. Specialist can't narrow it down, another referral, another specialist, another appointment.

No one has given me any answers. I have no active infections, no cysts, no fibroids, no stones, no abnormalities that they can see. I am taking Percocet for pain. Exploratory surgery has been mentioned. Endometriosis has been hinted at. I don't know what is going on with my own body

I am scared.

Independence Day

From the preamble of the Declaration of Independence:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain Inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

Most of us know these words. But what do they mean?

"Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness" are considered to be the unalienable (or inalienable) rights that we are all entitled to, can also be considered as natural, universal rights that are not dependent upon actions or beliefs. All of us. The entire human race -- not just Americans.

Life is an obvious one. We all have the right to live, for better or worse. Some choose to grow and better their lives and the lives or people around them, some could best be described as stagnant, and still others have a negative impact on this world.

Liberty, or freedom, is the ability to act according to one's own will. Free thought, free speech, free movement, freedom of religion, freedom of press. The government will not tell you what to say, think, what to do for a living, or even who to pray to. But remember, as Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. so aptly states it: "the right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins." So yes, feel free to do as you please, as long as it does not violate someone else's rights or the law.

The pursuit of Happiness. This can be interpreted in a few ways. There's the search for emotional fulfillment, or literally being happy. Things like getting married, having children, owning property, or even pursuing a hobby could fit into that category. And there's also Justice Miller's definition in BUTCHERS' UNION CO. v. CRESCENT CITY CO., 111 U.S. 746 (1884):

Among these inalienable rights, as proclaimed in that great document, is the right of men to pursue their happiness, by which is meant the right to pursue any lawful business or vocation, in any manner not inconsistent with the equal rights of others, which may increase their prosperity or develop their faculties, so as to give to them their highest enjoyment.

We are very fortunate to have a government and a society that is deeply ingrained in this philosophy. Most of us probably also take it for granted.

Our laws are not based upon religious laws or norms. American women can both own and drive their own cars. American women can also travel freely to most parts of the world, without consent or escort of their husband, father, or brother. No one is forced to dress, to maintain their personal appearance a certain way. Vices like alcohol are not banned by the federal government. These days, no civilian goes to jail just for being homosexual. You have the right to freely and openly practice whatever religion you choose to practice without fear of being killed or hauled away by authorities -- as long as no one is hurt and laws are not broken.

We are not forced to live out caste-based lives. You are not destined to a life of living in slums and scrubbing toilets just because that's what your parents did. You do not have to worry that the only opportunity that your children will have is based on working fields or in the factories just because of the color of their skin or where they're from. One of the ideals of America, Land of Opportunity, is that if you work hard enough, you'll be rewarded. That opportunity is not always found in other corners of the world.

We have the right and the ability to complain, and to hopefully make things better. We choose those who represent us in our government. We have a say in the laws that govern our state and country.

We are very fortunate. Don't ever forget this.

please, be nothing

Frustration is going to Urgent Care in pain to be told to take your medication, take Motrin, drink water, and go back to work. Or having a provider hint that everything might be caused by constipation. Or fighting busy signals for a week to schedule an appointment.

Meanwhile, I'm reluctantly taking Percocet and cutting evenings short with friends so I can lay doped up in my bunk for some relief from the pain.

All of my tests so far have been negative.

We're all hoping it's nothing serious.

this alone is motivation

See this little guy? That's one of my baby cousins that I keep writing about. He's grown a lot since I took this picture of him, about a year ago.

Sometimes he doesn't understand who is on the other end of the phone or why this stranger keeps asking silly questions like "what have you learned in school?"

Sometimes I wonder if he will remember all of the stupid games we used to play and silly things we did together. Will he remember staying up late at night, sipping warm milk and listening to Brazilian music? How I played with him, building up a hidden stash of cars until he discovered my trick? Nights of "show Techno how you brush your teeth!"? Whispering nonsense in his ear while out and about?

Mostly I hope that he'll remember me. I can't wait to see his big goofy grin.

saying goodbye, again

Yesterday at lunch I said goodbye to two of my girl friends. Their tour is over and it's time for them to go home. No more gut-spilling cigarette breaks, no more snarky comments about those around us, no more swapping camera bodies and lenses or comparing photos, no more nights of bingo playing each other's boards and complaining about the callers.

I think it'll take a few days to sink in that they're gone.

a very long chat will be involved

At the moment, I'm torn. I'm also in a lot of pain. Part of me is rather upset and just wants to sit here and cry. The other part is pissed. Very pissed.

But mostly I want to cry.

drop your pants

There are very few things in this world that make people think that you've just returned from leave. Apparently a certain immunization is one of them. When my reply to the tech's inquisitive but polite question was a negative one, all she could say was "oh."

"Oh."

I guess that wasn't the answer she was looking for. Or expected.

The tech chattered about, mentioning how she was being nice and mixing it with lidocaine -- something about how this shot brings Marines to their knees. It looks nice and thick, too. I think I'll lay down for this one.

When she was done, I let her know exactly what I thought of the shot: it's like Anthrax in the buttocks. Only I didn't say buttocks.

Case of the Mondays

It's Monday. And from my understanding, Mondays are universally the most disliked day of the workweek. Your weekend of freedom is over, time to get back to the grind.

Now imagine this. You arrive at the office to discover a trench dug right in front of the threshold. You go to your desk and find out that the network is down, meaning no email, no Internet, no remote drives. There's no way you can get any work done. The network isn't due to come up until the following day. However, you're one of the lucky ones -- some workstations don't even have power. But there is still electricity, which means that you still have lights. Your boss thinks this is the perfect opportunity to clean up. The end result of that is five garbage bags of shredded paper, and there's still more to do.

After lunch, nothing has changed. Coworkers start disappearing. Lunches, meetings, promotion ceremonies. A contracted laborer comes into the office and announces that the power is going to go out for about thirty minutes. You call your supervisor, who is oblivious to everything that's going on and instructs you to call your boss. Just as you get the boss on the phone, you watch your last coworker in the office walk out the door. Your instructions? Stay put. Don't leave. Open a door for some light.

It is 115 degrees outside. There is no power, there is no air conditioning. Opening the door lets in the sun, which brings in the heat. Everyone else has taken off. You are sitting alone in a dark office. A dark hot office. And you know that the guy that outranks you just walked out of the door without so much as checking in with the boss.

How's that for a case of the Mondays?

I have a feeling that this is going to be a very long thirty minutes.

hypothetical story

So here's a hypothetical story for you:

Girl gets deployed, leaves everything familiar behind. Girl meets boy, eventually decides that he's creepy. Repeat a few times for good measure. Girl ends up hiding in the barracks for a weeks at a time. Girl meets boy on New Year's Eve. Girl and boy hit it off. Boy tells girl that he smokes pot at home. Girl is uneasy about this, but ignores it. Boy and girl become exclusive. Boy introduces girl to his friends, girl's social circle expands. Boy is absolute sweetheart, friends are great. Boy's and girl's families are excited for them. Girl goes on leave, then boy goes on leave. Boy smokes pot over leave, tells girl about it. It bothers girl. A lot. Girl is already struggling with other things. Girl thinks boy isn't going to give up pot. Boy has no clue of what she's thinking.

What now?

sandstorm, day two

Four places where I'd rather be right now...
1. not in the middle of a sandstorm
2. somewhere with indoor plumbing
3. somewhere where the water doesn't go out on a regular basis
4. somewhere with four walls and a door

The sound of the wind against the tent is pretty impressive. The canvas is straining against the metal frame and the floresant lights keep bouncing back and forth. It reminds me of a tornado, but I know if I open the door I'll just see sand blowing around like snow drifts. Only it is definitely not snow, and this is definitely not winter.

Whoever designed and set up these tents knew exactly what they were doing.

I am so not going outside today.

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Techno

I feel like a toy soldier again. Press the right buttons, make and fulfill certain requests, send off emails, provide data. Life is more than this, but it wouldn't seem like that.

When my birthday rolled around, no one said anything about it at the office. No card, no birthday wishes, nothing. Not a word. And I know that I'm getting older and that I shouldn't expect a fuss for my birthday -- nor do I want to make a big deal out of it -- but it is a bit of a let down to realize that your office just doesn't care.

Aramis was the one who ended up brightening my day. The three of us were sitting around the coffee house, Aramis doing his usual dashing in and out. He finally came back, settled in, and pulled a piece of chocolate cake out of a bag. Nothing that unusual for him, really. Then he pulled out the candles. Joking that he probably couldn't get all 23 to fit on one piece of cake, Aramis stuck two candles in the icing and lit them.

"Happy Birthday, Techno."

Ky's big joke

Ky was never medevac'd. There was no trip to Mental Health. He didn't lash out at his roommate or anyone else. His laptop was not smashed.

The guys played a trick on me, and I fell for it. None of them understand just how not funny that was, how you don't joke about one of your friends being medevac'd. They didn't understand why I was crying.

I think I need more female friends. When did guys get so dense?

I know I should

My face is buried in the space between his shoulder and the couch as he tells me that I need professional help. He didn't get much sleep. And he really didn't like what I had to say to him last night, either.

"That's throwing everything away -- your friends, your family, me, your future, the Peace Corps..." His voice trails off. He's upset. I don't blame him. He likes to be happy, and he wants me to be happy.

"Why do you think about those things?" Like I want to. "Think about happy things instead..." If it were that easy.

I don't want to go back. Two of my friends have been medevac'd in the same 24-hour period, one rather unexpectedly. I am afraid of popping another so-called happy pill. I can't stand the thought of sitting in the doctor's office, or even entering the building.

And yes, I know I should.

Ky

Ky was medevac'd yesterday.

Apparently, he had come back from the latrine in the morning and found his very expensive laptop smashed. We're not sure if it fell off of his bunk or if someone purposely broke it. Ky went wild. He lashed out at his roommate, swinging but not hitting. Others came to investigate and he went after them, too.

They took Ky to mental health. I can only assume that they made the decision to evacuate him there. There is no mental ward here -- what else could they do?

He needed to get help, but not like this.

Gamer

As soon as I got to the corner of the coffee shop, I knew that something was wrong. Ky was sitting by himself. Gamer, who had joined us for the last week or so without fail, wasn't there. And he was always waiting for us to come in from work.

Unlike Ky and myself, Gamer wasn't stationed here. We knew that he had spent time somewhere else (a lot of people have) but neither one of us even suspected the truth. Gamer was a transient Soldier. Med hold, waiting for medevac. Neither of us found any of this out until last night. I never thought to ask. Why would I? His injuries aren't at all obvious, and he is a very bright and out going young man. The night he stumbled upon our little LAN, we invited him to hook up and he had been here every night since.

When I left him last night everyone thought he would at least be here for the weekend. We had made plans for tonight, like usual. But 1930 rolls around and there is no Gamer. His chair was empty, and there was no sign of his bag. Something was wrong.

Anxious, I leave the coffee shop and head towards the med hold barracks.

"Who are you looking for?"
"Gamer. Is he here?"
"Gamer?"
"Yes. Have you seen him?"
"He left this afternoon. His request was approved last night. He was medevac'd."

I must have stood there in shock for just a second before thanking the man and scurrying back to the coffee shop. Gamer is long gone. By the time I went to go find him, he was already in Germany.

Good luck, buddy. Get better soon.

minor luxeries

Stumbled out of the barracks this morning, toothbrush in hand. Climbed the steps to the latrine/shower trailer, headed for the sinks, turned on the water and brushed my teeth. Stumbled back to the barracks and then down to the gym for PT.

After PT, I'm covered in a layer of sweat -- like always -- and the only thing I could think about is a nice warm shower and a nap before work. Grabbed the essentials, and headed back to the latrines. No water. None. Couldn't flush the toilets, couldn't brush your teeth, couldn't take a proper shower. There was no way I was going to climb back into bed without a shower.

But the other females were in the shower stalls, drying off, getting dressed. I could hear water. How in the world...? Then I saw it, sticking out from behind a shower curtain. Water bottles. The big one and a half liter water bottles. Okay, fine, I can do that. I'm up for whatever it takes to get clean at this point. And yet... the logistics of it... How much water does one person need for a shower? And how many water bottles does that equal?

The answer: a single one and half liter water bottle. Just don't wash your hair or shave.

Oh, how I miss indoor plumbing.

on making the leap

leap

v. leaped or leapt, leap·ing, leaps

v.intr.

1. To spring or bound upward from or as if from the ground; jump: leaped over the wall; salmon leaping upriver.

2. a. To move quickly or abruptly from one condition or subject to another: always leaping to conclusions. b. To act impulsively: leaped at the opportunity to travel.

v.tr.

1. To jump over: couldn't leap the brook.

2. To cause to leap: leap a horse over a hurdle.

n.

1. a. The act of leaping; a jump. b. A place jumped over or from. c. The distance cleared in a leap.

2. An abrupt or precipitous passage, shift, or transition: a leap from rags to riches.

An abrupt or precipitous passage, shift, or transition. Is that the best way to describe my leap? Or was it a purely impulsive act that I made late one night, hitting reply to the fateful email as fast as I could? Can I even separate the two?

The world I live in now is drastically different from the one I left behind. My life is, too. There is no way I can go back to the States and pretend that nothing is different, that nothing has changed. And I'm okay with that.

These days I don't think much about that email asking for volunteers. Months ago, I was still struggling with the decision I made. And I did have a choice. I could have gone to Brazil on the month-long trip I had planned, followed by a summer of Army training, flying with Bossman and a trip to a workshop for my civilian job. Instead, I hit reply. I put my name on that list, and I made the cut. That involved finishing my finals early so I could go to reclassification school. There was no Brazil trip. There wasn't much flying. There was no workshop. And the Army training that had been planned was definitely not a two week stint. I made a choice between two planes, and I picked the one that took me to the desert rather than a sleepy Brazilian town.

My decision was met with a wide variety of reactions. MeuExAmor swung between very upset, pseudo-supportive, and outright hurtful. Many were shocked. My mother was in tears at one point, while my dad was doing all of the research he could. I found more support than I thought I would, and I found it in people that I wouldn't have expected. The hardest was not getting it from those whom I cared about deeply. But, I'm past that now.

I could always think of this as bounding upwards. Money in the bank, debt paid off, increased benefits... and all of the mushy stuff, which I won't delve into here.

I don't regret hitting reply, no matter how tough things get.

mud storm

Have you ever seen mud falling from the sky, splattering as it makes contact with a solid object? I thought not.

As if the triple-digit degree temperatures and the sand storms weren't enough, we had rain today. It hardly ever rains. In fact, it's entirely possible to go so long in between storms to forget what thunder sounds like. I must have sat in my bunk for half an hour, thinking that the booming thunder was noise related to construction. Then the rain started to fall. Soft at first, like the kind of rain that's nice to fall asleep to. That didn't last long. The noise got so loud that I decided to poke my head outside of the barracks to get a peek.

The sky was yellow. Always a bad sign -- it only looks like that during a sand storm. Very windy, very warm wind but not like a blow dryer pointed right in your face. And the rain! Coming down hard, much harder than usual, and hitting everything at an angle. A Soldier ran down the sidewalk, seeking shelter. I closed the door and retreated back to my bunk.

When I could no longer hear the rain on the roof, I ventured out. It hardly looked like it had rained. However, everything that the rain had hit was covered in either mud or dirt. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when it rains during a sand storm.

I don't think I'll miss this "unique" feature of desert weather at all.

Memorial Day

Other than the mandatory fun run in the morning and Memorial Day services, I have the tomorrow off. Which, unfortunately, will either be spent in my bunk or down at the coffee shop. I must admit, I miss playing music on Memorial Day. I miss the quiet mornings in the cemetery, seeing the old WWII vets, and listening to the speeches. I am proud that my hometown always had a good turnout despite the early morning ceremony.

Last year, I was in reclass school. I think we had a picnic by the lake. I remember it being very relaxing, a nice break from classwork and life in general. It felt strange, to not be involved in any kind of ceremony, to not spend my morning in a cemetery. I'm sure that I was thinking of my upcoming mobilization and deployment, leaving home for lands unknown while feeling totally unprepared. (In my opinion, nothing can truly prepare one for their first deployment.)

This year, I'm in the desert. Thinking of Driver and hoping that he encounters nothing more dangerous than a hedgehog. Wondering if the captured Soldiers are safe, or if they suffered the same fate as PFC Anzack. Trying to come to terms that while the general American public sees me as this great war hero (or a heartbroken Soldier running to the desert to cure what ails her), that I am only a desk jockey, a fobbit, a paper-pusher, another clog in the wheel of bureaucracy.

I'd much rather be in a national cemetery watching the funeral processions come and go, listening to Taps being played over and over again, anticipating the three volleys of the 21-gun salute. Just seems to be a more fitting way to spend the day.

sit with me and talk awhile

Come and sit with me and talk a while
Let me see your pretty little smile
Put your troubles in a little pile
And I will sort 'em out for you

--"Apple Blossom" by The White Stripes

Never underestimate the power of good friends, good conversation, and good times. Preferably with good coffee.

Dear World

Dear World,

Please take note of our return. Give us a hero's welcome, regardless of whether or not we feel we deserve it. Shake our hands, give us a hug, let us know that we were missed, that we are wanted, that we were cared for, that we are welcome.

Please take us back into the fold. Help those who are seeking for work find it. Do not look at our job applications, our resumes and think that we have no "real world" experience. Some of us have more than you think. Have you changed the popped tire on a rather large semi truck trailer in less than 30 minutes? Have you had to discuss and compromise when the lights will turn out in the barracks? Have you ever taken a weapon away from a tearful comrade, and then sat and talked to them? All of these are very real world experiences, no matter how mundane -- do not brush them away lightly. Help those who are trying to further their education work the system. Remind us of deadlines, refresh us on procedures, point us in the right direction. Resist the temptation of thinking that we are someone else's problem. We are not a problem, but we do need your help. And when we call you Sir or Ma'am, know that we mean it. Help those who have left their families behind reintegrate, no matter how big or small, how traditional or not. We left behind our spouses, our partners, our parents, our grandparents, our aunts and uncles, our siblings, our nieces and nephews, our cousins. Things have changed. Teach us, show us these changes. Please give us time to readjust. Calm us when we wake up in the middle of the night screaming, listen to our stories, have patience when we become frustrated with life at home. Know that we missed you dearly, and no words can ever explain that feeling.

Please help us heal our wounds, obvious or not. Do not linger on scars, on missing limbs. On the other hand, don't handle us with kid gloves when we need your help -- we will not shatter. A kind word and a good conversation can go far and mean more than you imagine. Remember that some of us have seen things that you could only imagine. Know that some of us have had nightmares or have cried ourselves to sleep. Be mindful of how a fireworks display or a door slamming shut can make us think that danger is near. We are human, and we are not invincible to all of the hurts in the world.

Please respect us, whether you agree with what we do for a living or not. We are important to someone. We have lives, jobs, families. Some of us volunteered to leave home, some of us did not. There is no difference between the two groups -- we went, we did our duty, we served our country. There are many of us who signed on the dotted line before September 11, and plenty who took the oath afterwards. Refrain from claiming that we should have known what we got ourselves into or calling us cold-hearted killers. Open your mind and try to imagine what our day-to-day life is like -- or better yet, ask us.

Do not forget us. We haven't forgotten you.

dust storms and trucks don't mix

The dust storm is clearing up, which means that Driver should hopefully be back within the next few days. When I talked to him last, he said that they were stuck because of the storm and the base actually ran out of food at one point. Right now I'm glad that they stayed where they were -- it's hard to say what would have happened if they rolled, with visibility as low as it was. I really don't want to think about that.

They already have another mission scheduled, and they're not even back yet. I have a feeling that I won't see much of him for a long time. We knew this was coming, we had talked about it before we both went on leave... I just thought it wasn't really going to happen. Denial, I guess.

At least we're much closer to going home.

the desert makes me sad

Lucky: "How are you holding up?"
Techno: "Shitty. I want to go home."
Lucky: "Did something happen with the boyfriend?"
Techno: "No, he's just never here. Always on the road. He's a truck driver."
Lucky: "So what's going on?"
Techno: "I'm just tired of playing Army. I want to go home."

And it's not like good things aren't happening here. I was just awarded a Commander's coin and a Certificate of Achievement for all of the very hard work that I've been doing in the office. Today was spent at another base, and I got a chance to do public affairs work. My friends have been letting me tap into their commercial internet and gave me the great advice to turn my laptop into a phone so I can call home after-hours.

Even though I get up, go to work, and do my best, I'm just ready to go home.

I think Dragonette is right: the desert makes me sad.

since when is MySpace a dating site?

Okay, I understand the "new" Army OPSEC policy for bloggers. I know what I can and can't take photos of, and I know what I have to Photoshop out of the photos that I want to share with the world. Got it, tracking, good to go.

But, blocking MySpace? And Facebook? Shame on you, Mother Army. For the record, they are not dating sites, but rather, networking sites. Most of us use MySpace or Facebook to communicate with those in the rear. I understand blocking them on work-related computers, as it's easy to waste hours on either website. That's not exactly productive. But off-duty hours and locations, there shouldn't be a problem. I haven't made it to one of the labs to see if they really are blocked there.

This is a stark reminder that the Army is so out of touch with Web 2.0 and its own web-savvy Soldiers.

Don't lock us down -- use us to your advantage.

Edit: Yes, those selected sites were already blocked on duty computers -- as they should be -- and the Stars and Stripes reported recently (today? yesterday?) that MySpace and such are accessible from certain MWR facilities. There have been periods here where MySpace was blocked at least two free labs on my post, and Soldiers had to go to the commercial internet cafe and pay $5 an hour for internet. That was lifted, but I don't know if it's back in place again as I mostly use commercial internet during off-duty hours. Will have to check that out.

oh, happy belated mother's day

Still waiting on a date for Mom's heart cath. In the meantime, I'm scouring AR 600-8-10, Leaves and Passes, trying to figure out whether or not my situation will qualify. It's my mom, so the relation question is pretty much settled. But then there's that pesky Chapter 6-1, 3-e bit:

For a serious situation involving accident, illness, or major surgery that cannot be postponed due to the urgency of the medical condition. The situation must result in a serious family problem. The family problem must impose important responsibilities on the soldier that must be met immediately and cannot be accomplished from his duty station or by any other individuals or by other means.

Is a heart cath major surgery? Not really. She'll probably be released the same day or next day. Is it something she can delay? No. Apparently she's at risk for a heart attack. Would there be a family problem? Maybe. Dad works six days a week, Fuzz and his girlfriend are out of the house, and I've usually been the caretaker after Mom has had surgery. And I definitely can't do that here. Could, would someone else in the family pick up the slack? Perhaps, but I don't know.

Not to mention we have no clue when this will happen, or if it'll be approved.

I asked my supervisor if he thinks it'll really be approved, and he said yes, followed quickly with "you just want to go home, don't you?"

Wouldn't you?

living on the surface of the moon

I am the only one in the lab at the moment, and it's one of those surreal moments. It's almost like everyone else on camp is asleep... but I know that's not the case. Those that work today are already at work, and those that don't are probably still asleep in their bunks -- my roommate included.

Being here in the desert is still a little strange, even after all of these months. When fall came, I wasn't expecting it to get so cold. Winter brought even colder weather, as well as fog and rain. The mild spring temperatures are gone with most of the flowers. Which leaves the ever-constant sun, wind, and sand. I still walk out of buildings, stare out over the horizon and wonder if I really am living on the surface of the moon. It's now normal for it to be more than 100F/38C at lunchtime. Was it really so long ago that Dragonette's mom was leaving us notes on the bathroom mirror warning us that it was only 57F/14C outside?

Maybe it's the lack of freedom, the feeling that I'm back in high school again. Maybe the fences and the barriers are really starting to get to me. Maybe it's the sun, the complete lack of anything green. Maybe it's the frustration of comings and goings, time differences, life that moves on without. Maybe I really am homesick.

If I go home on emergency leave, will the goodbyes be just as painful this time around? Or will it be better because we all know that this is almost over?

this is what frustration sounds like

Driver came back, and is now gone again. Such is life. I stood at the door to his barracks with a pouty face and the usual "I hate your job", knowing that it didn't matter what I said or did -- they were going to roll early the next morning. He is hinting that it might be like this for the rest of our tour. I'm frustrated. And worried. You know, the usual. How do the ones left in the rear deal with all of this?

I want to go back to the days of worrying about finals and crashing unix servers with bad code. Tired of water outages, tired of the sun, tired of the heat, tired of convoys coming and going, tired of dealing with immunization records, tired of Excel, tired of dealing with overly friendly male Soldiers. I am ready to go home. I am ready to have my life back. Can I have it, pretty please?

Mom is having one more cardiac test done, and then a cath. Maybe angioplasty. In theory, she'll call Red Cross who will then call my command and things will be sorted out as to whether or not I'll get to go home for the procedure. Crossing all of my fingers and toes, and hoping that it's not so serious.

I think it's time to make another appointment with Mental Health. With another doctor.

At least it's Saturday. I can lay in my bed until noon tomorrow and no one will care.

battle wounds

We've gone so far astray
No one knows what to say
We got young people's lives at stake
What is it gonna take
For us to find our way?

-- "Loose Ends" by Sergio Mendes, Timeless Album

About a week or so ago, I was waiting at the bus stop when male Soldier walked up. His face looked dirty -- like he had been splashed with paint and didn't bother to wash it off. As he got closer, I realized that it wasn't paint. All of those little splotches were scabs. He had been hit by a roadside bomb. Now I wonder if he was a gunner.

I wonder if any of his buddies were injured, or worse, died. Or did the armor do it's job? I wonder if he has nightmares.

I hope he had a chance to go home.

waiting

I am leeching internet off of one of my guy friends, the very same guy friend who scolded me for not being at Circle. For a variety of reasons, I've reverted to only going when Driver is on camp. No one came and banged on my door, no one called, no one emailed. So I haven't gone. It's been about a month or so since I've participated. Which means that it's been about a month since I've really spent time with them. That's a very long time out here.

Driver is due back soon. It's that same feeling that I always have right before he comes back, that slow, dull waiting from the time I get the "I'm going to be home VERY soon" email until my phone rings and his voice is on the other end asking me where I am, can I come meet him? Only he won't be coming back from the road, full of stories about the Third Country Nationals, the local women and children that try to steal things off of their trucks, the flat tires, the bridges, the crazy driving. He'll be coming back from Europe, not the road. I'm sure there will be alcohol involved. So rather than looking up at every HET expectantly and looking for his truck number or even a truck from his platoon, I am waiting for an unknown plane to land.

Waiting is the hardest. I want him here now.

heartbreaking

I called Aunt yesterday and after finally having a good conversation with her, she put Cousin 3 on the phone. He jabbered away about school and church and learning to swing by himself and riding his bike. Normal kid stuff. When he was done chatting away, he told me, unprompted, "I miss you."

Talk about a heartbreaker. Cousin 3 is four years old. I haven't seen him since July. He hasn't fussed much about me leaving, that I know of. And he has no idea of how much I miss him and his brothers and the rest of my family.

Four months. Just four more months and I'll be home.

"new" OPSEC rules

While a good portion of the Milblogging community is up in arms about the "new" OPSEC rules, it's really not a big deal. No photos of roadside bombs or bodies, don't talk about strength and buildings, and so on and so forth. Since we're not supposed to have pictures of battle damage or causalties, there's no problem there. Oh, and we're not supposed to have pictures of antennas and satellites either. Not a big deal. Calm down, and blog on.

The most annoying part of it all has been the constant emails with the updated information. Today it was the Army Fact Sheet for OPSEC and Milblogging from the Army Public Affairs Office, dated 4 May 07. Here's a few snippets:

In no way will every blog entry/update a Soldier makes on his or her blog need to be monitored or first approved by an immediate supervisor and Operations Security (OPSEC) officer. After receiving guidance and awareness training from the appointed OPSEC officer, that Soldier blogger is entrusted to practice OPSEC when posting in a public forum.

There is no way any work would get done if our OPSEC officer had to pour over all of our blog postings. We've all been taught about what not to talk about, we all know what's sensitive. And in case we forget, it's posted. Same thing with what we can and can't take photos of, even though it still happens. Just harder to be caught if you don't share them.

Army Regulation 530-1, “Operations Security,” was updated April 19, 2007, but the wording and policies on blogging remain the same from the July 2005 guidance first put out by the U.S. Army in Iraq for battlefield blogging. Since not every entry/update in a public forum can be monitored, this regulation places trust in the Soldier, Civilian Employee, Family Member and contractor that they will use proper judgment to ensure OPSEC.

See? It really is the same thing that we've been doing for awhile. Quit jumping to conclusions. Just be smart about what you put out there, because everyone -- whether you want them to read it or not -- can read it. And this is exactly why I don't post about a good number of things, and why I've choosen to be as anonymous as possible.

Although I do find emails in my inbox asking me to be a part of a live interview about all of this in Baghdad rather amusing.

sand storms are not cool.

Why did I ever think that sand storms were cool?

They're annoying. Highly annoying. Sand blowing everywhere, getting on and in everything. The wind feels like a blow dryer on high aimed at your body. And you can't see as far as you could on a clear day.

Oh, and what happened to the blue sky that I grew accustomed to?

As long as it doesn't rain, I think I'll survive. Raining mud is not very pleasant.

thinking ahead...

Just a few more months here. And then back to the so-called real world.

In the meantime, I'm looking at my bank account hard. Do I have enough money to go to China on a school trip? What about a few weeks in Brazil? Backpacking through Europe? Oh, and will I be able to afford a car and everything that comes with it? And books and fees for my first semester? Will I have to pick up another job or will unemployment be just enough? I might be able to pull it off, with my rainy-day fund intact. Or maybe I'll realize that I'm being just a little too ambitious.

There's other stuff that is bouncing around between the family back home and here. For awhile there has been talk of Driver moving. As in moving in with my parents and myself. It's scary, it's exciting, and I have no idea of how it's going to turn out. I've already written about our concerns about him driving back in the States. Add to the weaving and "I own this road" philosphy here that is normal for him to the fact that he's never ever driven in snow and I'm just anticipating trouble. Once we return, winter won't be too far away. Also, I know I'm going to run into the school of thought that cohabitating is bad/sinful/not a good idea and I have no idea of how to handle that. One of my guy friends is already calling Driver completely psycho just because of the moving plans. There's a method to the madness and it's not really anyone's business. There's a lot of research that needs to be done before the move: jobs, schools and covens, oh my. In the meantime, I'm crossing all of my fingers and toes hoping that it goes well.

And university! And my job in the planetarium! I can't wait to go back, even though I have to wait until months after my return to the States. The student crew that I'm used to won't be there. They'll have graduated and moved on to the Life After College. I have no idea of what other student employees will be there. Work will be strange without PhysicsGeek and EngineeringGeek. I'll probably have to study extra hard in my French classes just because I've let my brain rot and not kept up on my language skills. The same for my programming classes. I wonder if I'll go back to calling my professors "Sir" just like how I did after basic training.

Four more months. Just have to hang on for four more months of the hot desert sun and colorless sand.

thank you

I want to write about this before it slips away and becomes one of those things that goes into the category labelled "I'll eventually write about" and then never do.

This month is Asian Pacific Heritage month. On base we celebrated it tonight. Not wanting to miss out on good foreign cuisine, I went. All by myself. By the cool thing was that when I sat down at a table alone, I had others join me. They weren't military. They weren't DoD civilians. They weren't even contractors. They were Filipinos that live and work in the area -- part of the group that travelled through checkpoint after checkpoint with children in tow so that their children could perform for us as part of our celebration. By the time I finished my meal (it was delicious, by the way), I had explained the usual why I'm here, what I do, what I'm getting out of this deployment, and how much this meant to me that they came to base and celebrated with us.

For those very brief moments, I felt like I was living my ordinary civilian life again. Good food, good times, families and children and smiles everywhere.

Thank you.

quotes from friends

In case I haven't mentioned it before, I love my friends -- both near and far.

Quotes from my favorite high school era boys, who are still my best source of information as to how the male brain works:

Techno: Talk to you later, punk.
Rocky: Punk? Fuck that. I'm a super punk!
Techno: Ok, super punk!

Techno: Boys are stupid.
FakeBoyfriend: Duh. One of these days you're going to log in and tell me something shocking. Clearly, today is not one of those days.

Rocky still has an affection for the weird and unusual. I would be worried otherwise.

From Dragonette, when we were talking about mental health stuff: "The sandbox just makes you sad!" She's got a very good point. (Psst... I miss you!!)

And the whole three sentences I've heard from Driver since he's been out and about in Europe are a little anticlimatic when you've been waiting for news for days. "Me in Paris. Me good. I LOVE EUROPE!!" He won't write much, but as soon as he gets back he won't be able to shut up.

Primo's English isn't the greatest and hasn't made the leaps and bounds that MeuExAmor's did once upon a time. But the meaning is there and I understand him just fine. It's been too long since I've seen him.

Beautiful photos. I like [them] all. Amazing, awesome. Even [though] you are in there for a work you try to have time to get some fun. Enjoy this, you deserve all [of] the good things. With love, Primo

ItalianGrandpa, who has emailed me without fail since I left for training nearly a year ago: "Techno, we are at Aunt's. Will say hi for you. We miss you here, hurry home."

From Knocker, an Aussie sailor whom I met in Hong Kong. We trade notes on military life and the "weird" cultural stuff we encounter while we're away from home. His shipmates are a crazy bunch.

Singapore is ok. Went to a place called the '4 floors of whores' tonight. There were working girls everywhere. They didn't like me saying no. I was worried about one that talked to me. Her voice was deeper than mine. Left after that. It's not my thing.

And back at the planetarium, one of the professors sat on the phone with me coming up with snarky mottos for my job, all based around "paperwork corps!"

I miss them all.

back to the sandbox

I've been back in the desert for about a week now. No more Chinese, no more struggling with chopsticks, no more skyscrapers, no more yummy homemade meals and sleeping in until the construction work woke me up. Back to sand, sun, paperwork, plastic silverware, and o'dark thirty workouts.

My supervisor is on vacation, his back-up has medical stuff going on, and therefore, I am running around this base trying to get stamps and signatures. I managed to make a full bird Colonel rather upset over the stamping and the signing thing -- they dragged me back into the office later that evening to explain myself. Fortunately, because I have absolutely no clue what is going on, I was spared the Colonel's wrath via the Major.

Driver is on leave, and I'm missing him. He's backpacking Europe alone. Some of the people I spend time with while he's normally gone are also away. Moping around, keeping to myself, trying not to sleep all day. Today feels like how Sundays felt when I first got here: lonely, boring, empty, long.

At least I'm past the halfway mark.

unsent note to one of my baby cousins

Dear Cousin 2,

One day you will understand.

Right now you are probably confused and hurt and think I don't love you because I have been gone for a very very very long time. Your mom tells me that you ask if I'm hurt, if I'm okay, if I'm going to die. Yes, honey, I'm fine. No, I don't think I'm going to die. I know that you don't understand that I work in an office and that other Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen keep me safe. One day you will.

Until then, I hope your mom can explain it in a way that you can understand. Think of it as a vacation, and that Cousin Techno will be home very very soon. Because that's the place I want to be.

Miss you and everyone else dearly. And I will see you soon.

more odds and ends

This is what Hong Kong looks like from the top of a double decker bus.

Ferry ride is over! Getting ready to dock.

Rickshaws for sale. No one uses these for transportation in Hong Kong anymore.

This is the creepy doorman that laughs at everyone who comes home late. Dragonette, her sister and her father have all asked him why he laughs -- none of them can understand his reply. I wasn't going to take his picture, and then he laughed at me while I was waiting for the elevator. Notice how it is only 11:30 PM.

This is the view from Dragonette's room. I know that many wouldn't consider it pretty, but it sure as heck beats sand. There are five big dogs that live on the roof on the building to your right. They bark. A lot.

I leave tonight to go back to the sandbox. Not exactly looking forward to it, but I don't have much of a choice. At least I know how to pack extremely light.

out and about today

Overview of temple we visited today in New Territories.

Statues in the outer area. I wasn't allowed to take photos inside.

More dragons!

Another lotus flower. I think they're pretty.

Different temple, right next door. They let me take pictures inside... and they had more to look at, and were a lot less touristy.

First lion that I've seen painted. He's rather colorful, isn't he?

To rot your brain

Oh, I love broadband that isn't filtered or censored. Internet videos and cartoons, how I missed you so.

From my favorite Brit animators: Cucumbers and Pandas has fulfilled my panda-obsession as of late, Mango has been the WTF vid, Death Kitty and the Fat Man have made go "aww", and Kenya and Badgers are still my all-time favorites.

My favorite squirrel and his human describe a fortune cookie much better than I can. Yes, I spent $25 to send fortune cookies here. Why? They're American. Seriously, go Google it.

From Fuzz: Charlie and Candy Mountain. I'm still not sure if it was distrubing or funny. Maybe both. Poor, poor Charlie.

Anyways... enjoy the fluff. There might be pictures later, there might not be. I have a book that's calling my name.