Workin' for a livin' again. We've picked back up some kind of pace that we haven't seen in awhile, and I suppose are just emulating the motto of my life, sprint till the finish. Today, after another night of little sleep, I guarded the same water reclamation plant that I always do, that everyone always does. The same blue jump suits, being whipped by the white collared men that roam the large lot of construction. Danny would be proud today, the White Collars were working, welding in-fact.
The blue jump suits have moved one pile of rocks to pile them into another pile of rocks. The sweeping of sand from the top of more sand seemingly endless. The water reclamation plant needed more immediately today than others. The huge pit of green, slimy, sodium deposited side water took it's very own victim today. Perched just above, on a small mound of dirt, the blue jump suit precariously planned out his fate tempting walk along the edge of the shit water lake just below. He wasn't precarious enough, and with arms wailing and swinging to catch a handle not there, head over heels he fell into the water. It wasn't going to be the fall that killed him. It was going to be the depth of the water. Fully submerged until he found his footing, he quickly popped up, more embarrassed and frantic to escape the stink of the water, he clawed at the side walls trying to ascend. Laughter and finger pointing madness reigning upon him in his shit hole, no friend in the world good enough to reach down and help him out. The laughter ensued, until finally, hands caught edge, pull up and out, legs under and standing, hurt only where it counts, pride. Yelling at his counterparts, the piss soaked man probably with several valid points among the betrayal of friendship, to include the fact that they all wipe their own asses with bare hands. Ain't my shit.
The sun bearing down on the outside of my fighting position, un-relenting to the fiberglass, wood and camo-net, it only is able to hit me with half of it's radiance. I still sweat, but not bad. The hue of the sun is different, yet another part of the year I haven't seen. The return of summer to this place, it's last dying effort before being conquered by fall. The sun gets in a drivers eyes on the road, even though it's behind him, and he crushes his front end like a soda pop can into the car in front of him. They both pull over to the side of the road, and I expect at least blows, and hoping for a sword fight, or something interesting. More of the same bullshit, mumbo jumbo cold fusion, and they throw arms in the air in every direction. The ugly French Peugot that you would never see in a civilized country the victim of the ass ramming, and expected of the French, no damage to the rear, obviously from experience. The Honda Corolla's front end is demolished, as ugly as it's creator Adam's eyebrow. Yes, that isn't a typo, the Honda Corolla. Third World, get fucking used to it America.
I keep listening to Billy Joel and Tom Petty trying to get this harmonica thing down. I fail miserably every time, so I might start skatting instead. Skiba ba de bop bo doh bop.
Talking to Bob, our terp is always a good time it seems. He has a great sense of humor and only lies about half the time, which is good for any Iraqi. He at least recognizes how corrupt and horrible his country is. 6 years later and we're still paying for mistakes, and poor planning. Not just with human life, but with brain cells. Working with the survivalists that Iraqi's are is tough. Great liars not because they want to be, but to survive they must be. Better politicians than we are, and have proven it, flipping the tables, using our money, energy and existence to survive, to better themselves. All the things I learned, the open palm, left hand, don't show the bottom of your feet, all bullshit. The Islamic who cares nothing for money or possessions just as sickening as the part time patriot or the new age hippie. All just an 'idea' that is great when it falls in line for personal gain or glory, or perhaps in one's self defense, but down to the meat and bones is nothing but a fad. A bandwagon to ride on till the next best thing, and then you're off.
Smacking another damn fly from my face and hands, and I wonder if somewhere along with evolution the flies here became more persistent and practically invincible compared to the ones in the states. They kamikaze the head until you've knocked yourself out with your rifle butt, and then they feast on the sweat in peace. Occasionally, as you fall down the stairs you catch that smell, the smell of civilization, and it takes you by surprise. It's not perfume or cologne, but a simpler fragrance, a shampoo or body wash from the third floor shower. You embrace it freely. You let it in, allowing full access until you realize that it's not that smell that's so wonderful, it's the fact that you aren't smelling Iraq that's so wonderful. Head and Shoulders does more than just reduce dandruff. I take a big whiff and try and hold it in until the smell of urine, tire, gas, and shit can wreak it's havoc again in my nostrils.
Never make plans for the future. They slow time to a standstill. You are to forward looking to them to enjoy the time at hand. That's a struggle in itself. Drip of sand, the tick tock tick tock, Time is feeling, can you fill it?
The truth is out there...
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