I’m on guard duty again. This time from the hours of almost asleep to whenever. I feel as if I’ve been living in one really long week. The sense of vacation and surprise at every new play I’m thrown into has not yet worn off. I’m smiling writing this and laughing to myself. I’m enjoying myself greatly here so far.
Sure, my bed is terrible and leaves me feeling crippled in the daytime. Yeah, so what if I am constantly awoken during the night to roving soldiers with bright headlamps looking for some misplaced equipment or loud snoring officers? I wake early and stay up late, and I do it knowing that whatever else happens I have my friends here. This team, this number 3, it is the epitome of camaraderie and unity in my army experience. I’m nearly the newest member but time and time again I’m mistaken for someone who has been here from the start. Our level of comfort and integration is high enough to confuse anyone into thinking that.
I’ve been on guard for half an hour of my two total. I’m yawning and struggling to stay awake. At least we’re playing rugby at 6 am tomorrow. Back to point though. I enjoy going to sleep in my too small sleeping bag on top of dirty cot. I like waking up to shouting and bright lights. I look forward to sitting around in dull classes with droning speakers presenting disinteresting topics. I like the repetitive food (yeah, I’ve been here a week and I see patterns already) and the battle with sand and cleanliness I face when I walk to take a shower. I smirk at having to carry my unloaded weapon with me everywhere. I giggle at the idea of a 2 day range where I’m the acting Combat Life Saver and yet my certification has expired 2 years ago. And I grin knowing that 2 hours after returning from the range I have a 3 days field exercise ahead of me.
But perhaps I enjoy it all because I know that in a week, I will be on my way to Iraq; so I can finally start this madness.
That’s right, I said rugby. It’s for physical training.
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2 comments:
Why you gotta justify? You don't gotta justify!
The Thunderdome sits idle in the absence of hookers, drunken fist fights, the occaisional throwing of an airman down a flight of stairs by a steroid eating Jew and a bottle of "Tussen" lurking somehwere in the backround..and yet still the words "can you dig it," seem to float on everyone's lips as if by saying them they would return to us our missing link. Sure we have Sergovia's, but its scarcely the same...
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