Recently our mission schedule has resumed back to it's normal two patrols a day. This morning was an easy mission, but tiring and a waste of time really for us. We spent close to twelve hours doing absolutely nothing at Camp Liberty in the Green Zone. I've talked about what life is like in the Green Zone before. Little America. America in the Middle East. Disneyland.
Despite it being Muhammed's birthday today, you know Jesus II, we still had to go on this awesome mission instead of being out to stop religious extremists setting in IED's in our sector. The twelve hours of sitting around, looking at fat poor excuses for Army personnel walk around with muskets and fucked up head gear, is kind of tiring. You have to deal with a PX that is as fully stocked at Wal Mart, and the Burger King line getting in the way of the entrance to the Harley Davidson dealership. Not our daily norm.
You would think that that would be a great place to be. A false since of American living. But then again, NO. All of us couldn't wait to get back to our little FOB, away from it all. To our silent domain, with no water for showers, internet that goes in an out and we pay way to much for, and the stacks of newspapers that sit downstairs ready for us to hand out in the morning. In basic we used to yell, "Trained to kill, kill we will." Where were newspapers in that equation?
The lights are off in the rooms across the hall, and outside my door. You can see the glowing lights of headlamps reading pages of alternate realities. Or the light from a computer screen showing you just enough of a smiling face bordered by the white lines of ear buds retaining that persons own personal dimension. Talking to girlfriends. Checking the tournament, or blogging.
Someone snores. Another coughs. Wake up is only hours away. We're almost four months done with this thing. With rumors flying about early homecoming, and mid tour leave just around the corner, I feel good. No longer on the verge of frenzy. No longer at the mercy of my nerves. No longer, well you feel in the blank.
The halls of Fourth Platoon are quite tonight. Everyone sleeping tight, or listening to Floyd. Pretending they are Tom Cruise, or Brad Pitt. Watching porn, or coughing up a lung. The bullshit that is bullshit, finally we've grown a tolerance to it. It's no longer pressing and draining. In the words of my old squad leader, "it is what it is."
Fuckin' Catalina Wine Mixer
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