Another minute slips by the hands grasp, and the hour glass loses more and more from it's top half. At this point I'm not sure if I'll ever get home. I would have rather been with my platoon over the last two and a half days. Baghdad Internation Airport is certainly hard on the mind, body and soul.
Last night we finally got a flight time out of this place, and unfortunately it was not as soon as I had hoped it would be. None the less, today I fly out of this retched place. It makes me sick to walk outside here. To deal with the people at this base deep within the green zone. They seem to have no concept, no understanding that there is a war going on.
The fat slobs that walk around here are an absolute embarrassment to the Army. Of course most of them are National Guard units, but you would not be able to tell the difference, because they wear the same exact uniform that I do despite not being a part of the US Army at all really. They are a state ran militia. I used to gripe about having to stay within so many standards, that seem to make no sense sometimes, but when you get around a place like this, I can't think but to thank the 82nd for instilling the discipline to look like a professional.
I get kicked out of the chow hall because I don't have a weapon or magazine. We are in garrison here. No sweaty or dirty uniforms in the chow hall a sign reads. A girl walks around with a pink PT belt on. A female PFC flirts with her fat 1st Sergeant, and a fat ass walks past me with a full pizza from Pizza Hut. A blonde Captain fails to understand that we just want to get out of here, and that leaving a day prior to our leave is not really going to get us an extra day of leave.
Usually I'm worried about whether the power is going to stay on all night, or if the shower will give me enough water for a combat shower, because it's been four days since I've had one. I worry about the section of the city that sits beneath the watch of my 240 while I'm protecting our base from a possible enemy attack. Here, here is different for soldiers. There are so many people here at this big FOB that don't do anything. They have never left the wire. Never been in any kind of danger. Never missed a meal, or never not had a hot shower. And yet, they get paid exactly the same as I. To deploy to an area that is much like the United States. They get four day passes to Qatar for some 'rest' that I doubt they need.
Everything here is contracted out making so many Army jobs with nothing to do. The chow hall is all ran by Indians, or Iraqis. The bathrooms are not cleaned by soldiers who use them, but by Iraqis. The force protection here is ran by Ugandans who might shoot you because you did not display your ID when you were trying to go into the PX to buy a PS3, big screen tv, 24 pack of Monsters. All worthless stuff. They complain and complain about the littlest things. "They burned my Double Whopper!"
If I had to stay here another day, around so many people with no self discipline, or respect for the uniform the wear, I don't know how I could take it. It upsets me to think that these people are living a near normal life over here, despite the fact that they are doing no work. They don't change out of PT's. They don't do a 9 to 5 or PT in the morning. They get paid to sit in their personal hooches, and do nothing. Talking to another soldier who is stationed here, he tells me how there is such an excess of personnel here, that any work that could be done here by them, there's probably 20 units that would be in line to do it before them.
Limbo continues here on my way home. My leave was supposed to start on the 16th. Today. Instead, I'm flying out of BIAP, to Kuwait, to Germany, to Dallas, and then finally California. My mask of sanity is slowly slipping.
POG- acronym - Personnel Other than Grunt
Noun. Those who do nothing, complain about everything, and get paid the same as everyone else
LEGS- acronym- Low Efficeincy Ground Soldier
Noun. Those who usually walk around with bellies that hang over their belts, with mustaches unkempt, and a look of confusion and stupidity across their face. Non-Airborne qualified.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Homeward Bound
There's no more wishing I was. Homeward bound that is. I'm sitting at our Brigade Air building waiting for my flight which is less than two hours away. Excitement is coursing through my body. This will probably be my last blog for the next two weeks or so. It's also kind of a race against time. I didn't get my computer fully charged, and the battery is slowly dying on me, so I'll try and make this quick.
Sitting in the Panther Air building back on Loyalty is quite a bit different for how the last week has gone for myself, and well my platoon. We've been in quite a pickle, and still in limbo. We moved all of our stuff from Loyalty, to our new base, a tiny, less built up base. We only get two hot meals a day at our new home, and the hours are a little more excruciating on us. We now have to do force protection. Which is not horrible, but it's certainly something we haven't had to do up to this point.
39% battery life.
The building we've now moved into, is not what you would consider something you could live in. It apparently used to be an old noodle making factory. However it appears to be more of a parking garage you would find in the slums of Mexico. The ramp up to our floor is uneven with concrete. The first floor, underneath us, is the Iraqi chow hall, and it's our shared motor pool garage. We have to share everything with the National Police. The second floor is ours, the third is National Police's, and the fourth floor is empty, other than the small amount of sniper screens that eerily hang in the ginormous windows of the once huge factory floor.
As you reach that fourth floor, there is a shaky set of stairs that seem to give under your feet, and wobbles just enough to give you an uneasy feeling. As you make your way up these steep steps, you find yourself in a somewhat disturbing and scary room. This room has two doors that lead out to the same level rooftop on each side of the building. The National Police won't go on this floor, and for good reason. It's was almost terrifying the first time I walked up these stairs and reached the fifth floor. The walls and ceilings are charred like most of the rest of the building. But on the 5th floor, the air seems denser, and stagnant.
Some years ago in this place, some Sunni Muslims were in some kind of squabble with a family of Shi'a Muslims who owned the noodle factory. They locked the family on that 5th floor, and set the building on fire. 13 adults burned up there, and one little girl. The girl is rumored, from the National Police to haunt that 5th floor. Don't you love this country? That's not even that strange of something to happen. Sad.
32% battery life.
I assumed guard shift at midnight on our first actual day at our new home. Walking up those steps in the dark, with the sniper screens blowing freely in the floor downstairs, along with the sounds that wind will often make when your mind is already running wild with ideas of ghosts and goblins. And so despite my combat load of ammunition, and large 6" knife I carry on my equipment, I was a little freaked out. As I peaked out of my OP at the door which I had walked out of, I could see nothing. The door was black, and held no light inside. It's amazing how when you can't see into somewhere, how many times you think you see something move.
6 hours later, the sun was up, and I was off shift, and relieved. I however was not the most afraid person on the roof. My buddy Jason, told me his heart was beating really fast, and he kept looking back out of his OP and towards the same door I had looked at a few times through the night. Our LT, big, walked around and made little girl voices to try and scare us all at the same time, so that probably didn't help Jason's case.
We went on patrol this morning again in our new area of operation, and it has only been our second patrol there since we took over a week ago. The area is a lot different than Beladiyat. It's more towards the desert, and not really like the city Beladiyat is. They have herds of Jamoose that walk to the river and canal that now border our new area. The roads are not traffic able by our bigger vehicles, and so we are back in our humvees again. It feels strange, to be going on leave that is. I feel the sense of guilt. I feel somehow like I'm turning my back on the guys in a time where everyone on the team needs to pull their weight, and help to get everything accomplished. At the same time, I'm also very excited, that in less than two days from now, I'll be home, sipping on a beer, and eating my favorite foods, that I've been longing to have.
50% of the deployment done.
"Carry the one douche bag" -Lt. Dan Nelson... YES we have a LT. DAN!
Sitting in the Panther Air building back on Loyalty is quite a bit different for how the last week has gone for myself, and well my platoon. We've been in quite a pickle, and still in limbo. We moved all of our stuff from Loyalty, to our new base, a tiny, less built up base. We only get two hot meals a day at our new home, and the hours are a little more excruciating on us. We now have to do force protection. Which is not horrible, but it's certainly something we haven't had to do up to this point.
39% battery life.
The building we've now moved into, is not what you would consider something you could live in. It apparently used to be an old noodle making factory. However it appears to be more of a parking garage you would find in the slums of Mexico. The ramp up to our floor is uneven with concrete. The first floor, underneath us, is the Iraqi chow hall, and it's our shared motor pool garage. We have to share everything with the National Police. The second floor is ours, the third is National Police's, and the fourth floor is empty, other than the small amount of sniper screens that eerily hang in the ginormous windows of the once huge factory floor.
As you reach that fourth floor, there is a shaky set of stairs that seem to give under your feet, and wobbles just enough to give you an uneasy feeling. As you make your way up these steep steps, you find yourself in a somewhat disturbing and scary room. This room has two doors that lead out to the same level rooftop on each side of the building. The National Police won't go on this floor, and for good reason. It's was almost terrifying the first time I walked up these stairs and reached the fifth floor. The walls and ceilings are charred like most of the rest of the building. But on the 5th floor, the air seems denser, and stagnant.
Some years ago in this place, some Sunni Muslims were in some kind of squabble with a family of Shi'a Muslims who owned the noodle factory. They locked the family on that 5th floor, and set the building on fire. 13 adults burned up there, and one little girl. The girl is rumored, from the National Police to haunt that 5th floor. Don't you love this country? That's not even that strange of something to happen. Sad.
32% battery life.
I assumed guard shift at midnight on our first actual day at our new home. Walking up those steps in the dark, with the sniper screens blowing freely in the floor downstairs, along with the sounds that wind will often make when your mind is already running wild with ideas of ghosts and goblins. And so despite my combat load of ammunition, and large 6" knife I carry on my equipment, I was a little freaked out. As I peaked out of my OP at the door which I had walked out of, I could see nothing. The door was black, and held no light inside. It's amazing how when you can't see into somewhere, how many times you think you see something move.
6 hours later, the sun was up, and I was off shift, and relieved. I however was not the most afraid person on the roof. My buddy Jason, told me his heart was beating really fast, and he kept looking back out of his OP and towards the same door I had looked at a few times through the night. Our LT, big, walked around and made little girl voices to try and scare us all at the same time, so that probably didn't help Jason's case.
We went on patrol this morning again in our new area of operation, and it has only been our second patrol there since we took over a week ago. The area is a lot different than Beladiyat. It's more towards the desert, and not really like the city Beladiyat is. They have herds of Jamoose that walk to the river and canal that now border our new area. The roads are not traffic able by our bigger vehicles, and so we are back in our humvees again. It feels strange, to be going on leave that is. I feel the sense of guilt. I feel somehow like I'm turning my back on the guys in a time where everyone on the team needs to pull their weight, and help to get everything accomplished. At the same time, I'm also very excited, that in less than two days from now, I'll be home, sipping on a beer, and eating my favorite foods, that I've been longing to have.
50% of the deployment done.
"Carry the one douche bag" -Lt. Dan Nelson... YES we have a LT. DAN!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Keeping Your Ear, errrr Nose to the Grindstone
I'm sitting here on radio guard. The mosquitoes are flying around freely, and would be too much a match for even the Nose to take on. I have Washington, our company supply guy, and possibly the drollest of individuals to serve a late night shift with. R&R is a week away for me, and it almost seems, at this point, that it will never come.
Keep you nose to the grindstone.
I'm not sure if anyone even knows what the saying is or where it comes from. A google search came up with a story that's origin was even in question. My friend Adam and I used to say this saying all the time. Not even sure what it meant. But we used to say it, and I'm about to have a Rick James moment, we used to say it just to say it. "keep your ear to the grindstone." Of course we would substitute different body parts instead of say the nose, we would use cheek, or chin, anything went really. This place has been the epitome of that saying, despite the fact that the saying was in in promt to times of hilarity when we use it, and this place is definitely... well definitely not funny in the same way, more of a sad, tragic funny this place is.
Soon we are moving to our new home, a small, dirty, nasty little place. None of us are really looking forward to the move. We have to learn a new area of operation, along with the medial task of moving ourselves from our cozy barracks here, to what is going to be an overcrowded goat fuck. Leave can't come quick enough.
Keep your ear to the grindstone.
Some things I'm looking forward too in the next week. Moving up to this new base, no longer having the luxuries of this bigger base. Looking forward too moving into our new barracks which, might not be too bad, but unfortunately we will be trying to fit 5 platoons into a 3 platoon space. We still have to wait for the Cav guys there to move out in two weeks. So living will be, intimate to say the least.
Keep your chin to the grindstone.
My 2 am guard shift is nearly three quarters up, and I've killed nearly 20 mosquitoes which has definitely slowed my thought process down, and probably kept me off track. Just happened again. I'm not even listening to the story that Washington has been telling me for the last half hour. He's still talking about gangland.
My ear is currently on the grindstone. and bleeding
I can't really shore up any details on the whole Nose to the grindstone. It's a pre 15th century saying, and I'm no rocket surgeon, so I'll let the college grads figure that one out. Jeri you have 8 more days, so be sure to keep your mind to the grindstone.
Keep you nose to the grindstone.
I'm not sure if anyone even knows what the saying is or where it comes from. A google search came up with a story that's origin was even in question. My friend Adam and I used to say this saying all the time. Not even sure what it meant. But we used to say it, and I'm about to have a Rick James moment, we used to say it just to say it. "keep your ear to the grindstone." Of course we would substitute different body parts instead of say the nose, we would use cheek, or chin, anything went really. This place has been the epitome of that saying, despite the fact that the saying was in in promt to times of hilarity when we use it, and this place is definitely... well definitely not funny in the same way, more of a sad, tragic funny this place is.
Soon we are moving to our new home, a small, dirty, nasty little place. None of us are really looking forward to the move. We have to learn a new area of operation, along with the medial task of moving ourselves from our cozy barracks here, to what is going to be an overcrowded goat fuck. Leave can't come quick enough.
Keep your ear to the grindstone.
Some things I'm looking forward too in the next week. Moving up to this new base, no longer having the luxuries of this bigger base. Looking forward too moving into our new barracks which, might not be too bad, but unfortunately we will be trying to fit 5 platoons into a 3 platoon space. We still have to wait for the Cav guys there to move out in two weeks. So living will be, intimate to say the least.
Keep your chin to the grindstone.
My 2 am guard shift is nearly three quarters up, and I've killed nearly 20 mosquitoes which has definitely slowed my thought process down, and probably kept me off track. Just happened again. I'm not even listening to the story that Washington has been telling me for the last half hour. He's still talking about gangland.
My ear is currently on the grindstone. and bleeding
I can't really shore up any details on the whole Nose to the grindstone. It's a pre 15th century saying, and I'm no rocket surgeon, so I'll let the college grads figure that one out. Jeri you have 8 more days, so be sure to keep your mind to the grindstone.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Occasionally, Thank You Iraqi Police
This morning was another arduous wake up that left Murphy hanging heavy on my eye lids. Last night after a grueling mission we were informed on a few pieces of news that could be considered bad. First news was, despite being nearly 11 at night already, that we had another patrol at a very early hour of the morning. The other news that was told to us, which even if it doesn't turn out bad will inevitably be a nuisance to us, is that our platoon, our company, is moving out of our sector and into a smaller base, with less amenities then here at our bigger base.
After our early operation of attempting to fly an unman ed aircraft, which had it's wings clipped even before taken due to the regular SNAFU's that our Company/Battalion/Brigade usually have, we ventured out of our area of operation and up to check out our new, 'home.'
When we arrived finally at our future home, it was still early enough in the morning to be craving 10 million milligram of caffeine, demon sugar and carbohydrated Rip Its. The small postage stamp sized base is nothing but an eye sore. Right outside the gate is piles of trash and sewage that let off a lovely smell only a honey dipper could enjoy. There is limited parking, and little kids poke their heads over the wall and beg for candy. The building itself is some kind of all parking structure. After ascending a ramp way that almost brought on the nostalgia of going to a sporting event, we found ourselves on the second floor where we are to live. Whoever has had to stay here before has done a decent job with the place.
Despite the charred cement of the twenty foot ceiling, along with the sauna type conditions from hot air being circulated from hard working air condition units, the living quarters seem rather nice. There is a small dining area, and an MWR complete with phones and plenty of computers hooked up to internet. The rooms are more private than the ones we stay at now. The dark, smelly conditions are almost to perfect for an infantryman. So despite the fears of the platoon, we should be better than ok. Sure we won't have internet to our laptops, but I don't think we'll complain.
We tried to make new friends there, as I put on E6 rank and ask a 1st Cavalry guy where the stables for their horses were. He didn't think I was very funny.
As mid-morning approached and we were headed back to our current living situation, and gym, showers, chow, and sleep, we found ourselves caught up in the usual AT4 debacle. Right before we get back from mission, when are hopes are the highest and we are all in good spirits, we always seem to get frago'd. This time battalion needs us to check out a possible IED that the National Police have called up. Hold on, let me throw on my bomb suit. At first we don't really believe the grid because it is right across the street from our very own base. We roll up on the scene and find it blocked off by the National Police.
After being on scene and figuring out what was going on, we finally got the real EOD (explosive ordnance disposal), out to take a look at it. I mean this thing is literally right where we turn around to get into the ECP (entry control point), everyday. They get there Robot out and roll up to drop an explosive charge on this thing to make it inert. Of course we have to wait to get a 'blast window' opened up, which on prior missions has taken hours. As we are sitting there waiting, watching the gaggle of higher ups walk around in the vicinity of this thing, the Robot crosses in front of where this thing is aimed, and it goes off.
The explosion caught me off guard, but did not startle me. It wouldn't be the first time EOD just blew something up without telling anyone they were going to do it. As the explosion occurred, and the fireball went up in the air, and black smoke plagued the sky. And even as the shock wave was felt through the truck, smacking the bottom of my feet pushing past my body, I could only concentrate on one thing. A black object spinning and bouncing across the street into a ditch and out of sight. It was the Robot.
I watched EOD clear the site for secondary devices and then finally recover the tracks, which sat near the explosion site, of the now two pieced Robot. Everyone but the Robot was fine, thanks to some handy work by the local Iraqi Police. So, occasionally, thanks.
"You're going to have to call the Robot's family."
"Roger, the Robot didn't make it."
After our early operation of attempting to fly an unman ed aircraft, which had it's wings clipped even before taken due to the regular SNAFU's that our Company/Battalion/Brigade usually have, we ventured out of our area of operation and up to check out our new, 'home.'
When we arrived finally at our future home, it was still early enough in the morning to be craving 10 million milligram of caffeine, demon sugar and carbohydrated Rip Its. The small postage stamp sized base is nothing but an eye sore. Right outside the gate is piles of trash and sewage that let off a lovely smell only a honey dipper could enjoy. There is limited parking, and little kids poke their heads over the wall and beg for candy. The building itself is some kind of all parking structure. After ascending a ramp way that almost brought on the nostalgia of going to a sporting event, we found ourselves on the second floor where we are to live. Whoever has had to stay here before has done a decent job with the place.
Despite the charred cement of the twenty foot ceiling, along with the sauna type conditions from hot air being circulated from hard working air condition units, the living quarters seem rather nice. There is a small dining area, and an MWR complete with phones and plenty of computers hooked up to internet. The rooms are more private than the ones we stay at now. The dark, smelly conditions are almost to perfect for an infantryman. So despite the fears of the platoon, we should be better than ok. Sure we won't have internet to our laptops, but I don't think we'll complain.
We tried to make new friends there, as I put on E6 rank and ask a 1st Cavalry guy where the stables for their horses were. He didn't think I was very funny.
As mid-morning approached and we were headed back to our current living situation, and gym, showers, chow, and sleep, we found ourselves caught up in the usual AT4 debacle. Right before we get back from mission, when are hopes are the highest and we are all in good spirits, we always seem to get frago'd. This time battalion needs us to check out a possible IED that the National Police have called up. Hold on, let me throw on my bomb suit. At first we don't really believe the grid because it is right across the street from our very own base. We roll up on the scene and find it blocked off by the National Police.
After being on scene and figuring out what was going on, we finally got the real EOD (explosive ordnance disposal), out to take a look at it. I mean this thing is literally right where we turn around to get into the ECP (entry control point), everyday. They get there Robot out and roll up to drop an explosive charge on this thing to make it inert. Of course we have to wait to get a 'blast window' opened up, which on prior missions has taken hours. As we are sitting there waiting, watching the gaggle of higher ups walk around in the vicinity of this thing, the Robot crosses in front of where this thing is aimed, and it goes off.
The explosion caught me off guard, but did not startle me. It wouldn't be the first time EOD just blew something up without telling anyone they were going to do it. As the explosion occurred, and the fireball went up in the air, and black smoke plagued the sky. And even as the shock wave was felt through the truck, smacking the bottom of my feet pushing past my body, I could only concentrate on one thing. A black object spinning and bouncing across the street into a ditch and out of sight. It was the Robot.
I watched EOD clear the site for secondary devices and then finally recover the tracks, which sat near the explosion site, of the now two pieced Robot. Everyone but the Robot was fine, thanks to some handy work by the local Iraqi Police. So, occasionally, thanks.
"You're going to have to call the Robot's family."
"Roger, the Robot didn't make it."
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Month 6 Excitment
Here in Iraq things are slightly different then what they are at home. The weather here has been increasingly hot, and despite it being near the same temperature as what my hometown is. Despite that similarity, things are not relatable. My room has now windows. No view of the outside world. I step outside disoriented from not getting enough sleep, and either find it blindingly hot and bright, or blindly dark, and dusty.
Wearing our gear for missions only seems to complicate the heat. I usually think 90 degrees is 'nice' weather. Which it is wonderful weather, when you happen to be wearing flip flops, shorts and a thin t shirt. Not the long sleeve, nylon-cotton uniforms we wear with the 60 lbs of gear we throw on our shoulders for hours at a time. The wind here blows like someone has left on a giant blow dryer. The sand storms leave your face covered with grit and sand that can be seen through the lines of sweat which streak down your face.
Despite the horrid conditions that approach in the next couple of months, I am very excited for an entirely different reason. The excitement flows like water over the edges of a full bucket, and I can't help it not affect my mood of even the most dyer of situations we face on a day to day basis. I'm coming home in less than two weeks for a little Rest and Relaxation.
There is a lot that I'm looking forward to. For one, drinking an ice cold refreshing beer while either, hanging out with family or watching a Dodger game. I can eat greasy fast food along with delectable sushi. I can wear shorts, and probably going to skip out on even wearing a shirt if I can get away with it.
I started to think about nights at home, and how they felt. Sometimes much like the room I sleep in now. The air condition in our barracks doesn't work leaving some sweating nights. But that's no different than the house I grew up in. The living room became my main sleeping space because it was the only room in the house that seemed to have any kind of cool, with the swamp cooler blowing into the early hours of the morning. I remember living in the front house with the hot stuffy feeling. I miss those nights, hanging with friends, playing darts and trying to keep cool by consuming massive amounts of ice cold beer.
The one thing that I'm most excited about coming home for is now a mission of perfect timing that is really out of my control. That is my sisters graduation from Cal Berkeley. She graduates on the 16th, which is when I'm supposed to arrive home. It should be a race to make it up there if I get into Los Angeles early enough, and catch a flight up to Oakland.
The next thing that I'm terribly excited about, and is nearly at the fore front of my excitement, is seeing my girlfriend, Gina. Gina and I are approaching our one year mark together, and unfortunately I won't be with her on that date, but will be there a week later. Gina has been a big help to me during this deployment. She has been very supportive and strong through this tough time of a long distance relationship. Of course my family has been great too, but Gina is my everyday contact to the world back home, and I couldn't imagine this deployment without her.
With home so close, and friends and family awaiting my arrival, the next two weeks will probably move the slowest of the deployment for me. We start month six in two days, which would have been the mid point of deployment, but everyone here is trying there hardest to keep there hopes low, despite the constant rumor that the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne will all be home by 01 October.
So despite the mission schedule still grueling to us all, and sleep being at a premium when you can get it, my spirits remain high.
"Boats n' Hoes"
Wearing our gear for missions only seems to complicate the heat. I usually think 90 degrees is 'nice' weather. Which it is wonderful weather, when you happen to be wearing flip flops, shorts and a thin t shirt. Not the long sleeve, nylon-cotton uniforms we wear with the 60 lbs of gear we throw on our shoulders for hours at a time. The wind here blows like someone has left on a giant blow dryer. The sand storms leave your face covered with grit and sand that can be seen through the lines of sweat which streak down your face.
Despite the horrid conditions that approach in the next couple of months, I am very excited for an entirely different reason. The excitement flows like water over the edges of a full bucket, and I can't help it not affect my mood of even the most dyer of situations we face on a day to day basis. I'm coming home in less than two weeks for a little Rest and Relaxation.
There is a lot that I'm looking forward to. For one, drinking an ice cold refreshing beer while either, hanging out with family or watching a Dodger game. I can eat greasy fast food along with delectable sushi. I can wear shorts, and probably going to skip out on even wearing a shirt if I can get away with it.
I started to think about nights at home, and how they felt. Sometimes much like the room I sleep in now. The air condition in our barracks doesn't work leaving some sweating nights. But that's no different than the house I grew up in. The living room became my main sleeping space because it was the only room in the house that seemed to have any kind of cool, with the swamp cooler blowing into the early hours of the morning. I remember living in the front house with the hot stuffy feeling. I miss those nights, hanging with friends, playing darts and trying to keep cool by consuming massive amounts of ice cold beer.
The one thing that I'm most excited about coming home for is now a mission of perfect timing that is really out of my control. That is my sisters graduation from Cal Berkeley. She graduates on the 16th, which is when I'm supposed to arrive home. It should be a race to make it up there if I get into Los Angeles early enough, and catch a flight up to Oakland.
The next thing that I'm terribly excited about, and is nearly at the fore front of my excitement, is seeing my girlfriend, Gina. Gina and I are approaching our one year mark together, and unfortunately I won't be with her on that date, but will be there a week later. Gina has been a big help to me during this deployment. She has been very supportive and strong through this tough time of a long distance relationship. Of course my family has been great too, but Gina is my everyday contact to the world back home, and I couldn't imagine this deployment without her.
With home so close, and friends and family awaiting my arrival, the next two weeks will probably move the slowest of the deployment for me. We start month six in two days, which would have been the mid point of deployment, but everyone here is trying there hardest to keep there hopes low, despite the constant rumor that the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne will all be home by 01 October.
So despite the mission schedule still grueling to us all, and sleep being at a premium when you can get it, my spirits remain high.
"Boats n' Hoes"
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