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.