26 months of Iraq are under the treads of these soles. Not all my doing, but a less than half contribution for sure. They are to the near point of hideous, but in that John Wayne weathered kind of way. The glue, and re-glue is failing, leaving the once tight rubber bottoms, now moving freely with every step. The inside of the boots, more destroyed than the outside, even that chip and gash on the right toe. They smell bad, but with all the right. Sweaty'd and bloody'd at one point or another.
Like I said, they were not mine to begin with. They were a sight for sore eyes when I got them. Leather faded and rubbed smooth in places. Tattered and nearly torn in others. Brian Reed bequeathed them before he left our unit, and he put them in good hands. He had worn them during his deployment the year and a half before. 15 months in Samarra, under a .50 cal, on a platform, or captured terrorist, in the confines of a humvee. Kicking or stomping.
The stories of where and what had been seen and done in those boots, to many to learn. I took them, not knowing the significance of the boots I'd be stepping into. Not just figuratively. Already worn in and comfortable to the feet, they were a comfortable blessing to the feet. Perhaps slightly past their prime, but they still had a few steps left in them.
Walking around, one day to the next, the boots learning new stories and seeing new sights. Their experience growing, marked one gash or chip of rubber here or there. Each having a small story, but a big stride. The connotations of good times and bad ones surging through every loop of the tie. Every lace up, conforming to foot, preparing for mission with the reliance all on the shoulders of my boots. Every lace down and untie the relief of a job well done, or a tough day over. Appreciated, but neglected, on their side or across the room until the morn. Until next year.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Dream Weaving
It's weird, these days, to admit even to myself what is wrong with me. It's probably one of the hardest things to do in life. We all think we are perfect, and we rarely reflect on our own shortcomings. It's too easy to make excuses that qualify why we haven't accomplished what we have all set out to do. I have been observing myself as best as possible. Recognizing when I lie to get what I want, and to do all of the selfish things that we all want to do.
What self realizations have I discovered that I am willing to admit? We all know that we have things wrong with us, but we all too often ignore what we shouldn't. We too many times allow ourselves alibis. We don't truly care for other people. Most of our decisions focus around ourselves. The worst part is we act like that's not the case. We volunteer our hours and help others, but too what happiness to we owe the credit of these achievements: Our own. We do this to make ourselves feel good. And we do, and the bi-product is relevant but irrelevant. We sign a check and roll up some sleeves, but we don't really do any of that for mankind. We do it for ourselves. Because we don't want to be that person that doesn't care about others. We aren't selfless. If you think you're selfless, you should consider joining the military.
We are selfish. All of us. We have to be, it's human nature. We stop caring about others the second that we pretend to start too. There's nothing wrong with that though. There is nothing wrong with being selfish. That's what we have to realize. That's what we have to accept. Otherwise you end up like me, making decisions for my own life based on how it will effect the people around me. If it will make them happy, then I will do it. It's not a good thing though. I'm helping you out at my own expense. But haven't I always been the clown who's crying on the inside? I've always been willing to sacrifice myself for the joy of others. Not many people are like that, and where that seems not selfish, and selfless, it simply is not. It is selfish. It is what makes me happy. To have others around me have more joy than I myself do.
How do I fix that? How do I take the steps to transform myself to make those selfish decisions that don't just make me feel happy about myself that I helped others out, but that I feel happy about making decisions for myself.
My sister tells me a lot of interesting stuff. She's always been smart and capable of tons of accomplishment. She tells me that Hitler used to read a book by a guy, and of course I don't remember his name, but this guys book had a very interesting point about how we are self detrimental, that we don't achieve all that we can because we care too much for morals and ethics, which are essentially just ideas that have been created by people. That you have to create your own ethics and morals that base solely around your best interests, and nobody elses. This philosopher guy, whoever he was, he was an asshole, but he was also smart.
I've been having strange dreams. I'm at a very emotional state in my life and a lot of it I have yet to figure out. I'm in and out of love with an ex and wish the settings, the conditions were different so I could get a true feel for what was going to happen. I'm going to not be with my family again for Christmas, and I missed Thanksgiving too. Not that I don't have wonderful support of my adopted families here in North Carolina, but to not be with my family on such big family events does take the wind out of my sails a little. All of this, the stress of being on a recall to go anywhere in the world at a moments notice, it all has mounted. The dreams are very random and as the best Internet search could produce, tells me that the kinds of dreams I'm having are a positive, even if that's not the way it makes me feel.
I dreamt I was in Afghanistan. Very vivid too. I was on a helicopter to who knows where and listening to a radio or someone saying something about how dangerous of a place we were going was. How many guys the previous unit had lost. I thought of my friend KC and his tour, and of course he was in the bird with me. My dream jumped to me not making it to his going away from Fort Bragg party and I instantly got sick with regret. The bird landed, or some how I was on the ground smoking a cigarette or just standing in a circle with a few other guys. It seemed normal then, but strange now. The next thing I knew we were patrolling, like a thousand others I had been on. I was thinking to myself how I didn't know the mission and that I was blaming the PSG for not filling us in on what was going on. I asked someone what we were doing and where we were going. I got the typical Army response, which could've been; shut up, who knows, or that overly used facial expression of, huh? I followed the man in front of me. He passed an ice cream truck on the right hand side. I started to go around it on the left. As I neared the back, and the Afghan women and children who stood close, I noticed what appeared to be a small land mine in the ground. I looked at it closer and right as I exposed myself to the left flank of the truck. Awaiting me was an Afghan man with a grenade. He lurched at me holding the grenade out. I frantically back petalled away and fired my M4 at him. He threw the grenade and it bounced around on my chest and finally landed at my feet. My vision went white and my hearing went numb. I awoke on the couch.
That was a few nights ago. It's strange that when I awoke, I didn't feel any anxiety, any kind of fear for my life. I had just accepted that I died. Not as any kind of hero. Not jumping on a grenade to save my buddies, but just a normal way to have died in this war. Last nights dream was even more weird.
It was less vivid, and more alarming. I saw tombstones of 18 people, and they were more of a futuristic look. I was with the ghost or perhaps a person going past them on some sort of ride. We talked about what I didn't know, but kept getting flashes of a dead person in a ditch or perhaps just the woods. I couldn't make out their face as there body was naked, and covered in dirt. I kept talking to the person and couldn't decipher what it was about. The body kept flashing in my head, and I read the names on the tombstones. I saw mine and then the body was clear. It was me. I saw that I had died, I saw my tombstone. I woke up from it I'm sure, but thought only about it the rest of the night I slept. It was weird, and strange, and the experts say that it's a good thing. That dying in a dream is good. That it symbolizes inner-changes and transformation.
I hope that's true, that I am changing, that I am improving. I hope that I can get through this, with all that I've learned. I have to continue to grind things out and try to not worry about how things will be, and just worry about how I will get to where I want to be.
What self realizations have I discovered that I am willing to admit? We all know that we have things wrong with us, but we all too often ignore what we shouldn't. We too many times allow ourselves alibis. We don't truly care for other people. Most of our decisions focus around ourselves. The worst part is we act like that's not the case. We volunteer our hours and help others, but too what happiness to we owe the credit of these achievements: Our own. We do this to make ourselves feel good. And we do, and the bi-product is relevant but irrelevant. We sign a check and roll up some sleeves, but we don't really do any of that for mankind. We do it for ourselves. Because we don't want to be that person that doesn't care about others. We aren't selfless. If you think you're selfless, you should consider joining the military.
We are selfish. All of us. We have to be, it's human nature. We stop caring about others the second that we pretend to start too. There's nothing wrong with that though. There is nothing wrong with being selfish. That's what we have to realize. That's what we have to accept. Otherwise you end up like me, making decisions for my own life based on how it will effect the people around me. If it will make them happy, then I will do it. It's not a good thing though. I'm helping you out at my own expense. But haven't I always been the clown who's crying on the inside? I've always been willing to sacrifice myself for the joy of others. Not many people are like that, and where that seems not selfish, and selfless, it simply is not. It is selfish. It is what makes me happy. To have others around me have more joy than I myself do.
How do I fix that? How do I take the steps to transform myself to make those selfish decisions that don't just make me feel happy about myself that I helped others out, but that I feel happy about making decisions for myself.
My sister tells me a lot of interesting stuff. She's always been smart and capable of tons of accomplishment. She tells me that Hitler used to read a book by a guy, and of course I don't remember his name, but this guys book had a very interesting point about how we are self detrimental, that we don't achieve all that we can because we care too much for morals and ethics, which are essentially just ideas that have been created by people. That you have to create your own ethics and morals that base solely around your best interests, and nobody elses. This philosopher guy, whoever he was, he was an asshole, but he was also smart.
I've been having strange dreams. I'm at a very emotional state in my life and a lot of it I have yet to figure out. I'm in and out of love with an ex and wish the settings, the conditions were different so I could get a true feel for what was going to happen. I'm going to not be with my family again for Christmas, and I missed Thanksgiving too. Not that I don't have wonderful support of my adopted families here in North Carolina, but to not be with my family on such big family events does take the wind out of my sails a little. All of this, the stress of being on a recall to go anywhere in the world at a moments notice, it all has mounted. The dreams are very random and as the best Internet search could produce, tells me that the kinds of dreams I'm having are a positive, even if that's not the way it makes me feel.
I dreamt I was in Afghanistan. Very vivid too. I was on a helicopter to who knows where and listening to a radio or someone saying something about how dangerous of a place we were going was. How many guys the previous unit had lost. I thought of my friend KC and his tour, and of course he was in the bird with me. My dream jumped to me not making it to his going away from Fort Bragg party and I instantly got sick with regret. The bird landed, or some how I was on the ground smoking a cigarette or just standing in a circle with a few other guys. It seemed normal then, but strange now. The next thing I knew we were patrolling, like a thousand others I had been on. I was thinking to myself how I didn't know the mission and that I was blaming the PSG for not filling us in on what was going on. I asked someone what we were doing and where we were going. I got the typical Army response, which could've been; shut up, who knows, or that overly used facial expression of, huh? I followed the man in front of me. He passed an ice cream truck on the right hand side. I started to go around it on the left. As I neared the back, and the Afghan women and children who stood close, I noticed what appeared to be a small land mine in the ground. I looked at it closer and right as I exposed myself to the left flank of the truck. Awaiting me was an Afghan man with a grenade. He lurched at me holding the grenade out. I frantically back petalled away and fired my M4 at him. He threw the grenade and it bounced around on my chest and finally landed at my feet. My vision went white and my hearing went numb. I awoke on the couch.
That was a few nights ago. It's strange that when I awoke, I didn't feel any anxiety, any kind of fear for my life. I had just accepted that I died. Not as any kind of hero. Not jumping on a grenade to save my buddies, but just a normal way to have died in this war. Last nights dream was even more weird.
It was less vivid, and more alarming. I saw tombstones of 18 people, and they were more of a futuristic look. I was with the ghost or perhaps a person going past them on some sort of ride. We talked about what I didn't know, but kept getting flashes of a dead person in a ditch or perhaps just the woods. I couldn't make out their face as there body was naked, and covered in dirt. I kept talking to the person and couldn't decipher what it was about. The body kept flashing in my head, and I read the names on the tombstones. I saw mine and then the body was clear. It was me. I saw that I had died, I saw my tombstone. I woke up from it I'm sure, but thought only about it the rest of the night I slept. It was weird, and strange, and the experts say that it's a good thing. That dying in a dream is good. That it symbolizes inner-changes and transformation.
I hope that's true, that I am changing, that I am improving. I hope that I can get through this, with all that I've learned. I have to continue to grind things out and try to not worry about how things will be, and just worry about how I will get to where I want to be.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
3 A.M. Talks With Myself
The break is certainly well over due. It's not far away, but seems further than ever. My paint is chipping and peeling with ease. I feel underwater. My vision fades. I wake up from nightmare to live one. Everyday is worse than office space.
The coffee doesn't wake me, and the ambien doesn't put me to sleep. I get anxious. My palms sweat, my beard grows, my alarm chirps, my lights work. I feel nothing but sorrow on some days, and other days are the bad ones. I've always been able to make the ones around me happy, the clown who cries on the inside. I like the sunrises better than sunsets, but like to sleep past them both better.
The cool air is a change, and the humidity is about all that makes it unbearable. I become more and more immune to this rank and disgusting virus. It only makes me sick to think about when I have the time to. My brain hurts more at night than in the morning, and at least it makes the drive to work bearable. I try and find positives here and there, but eventually subject myself to the major populace thinking and bask in the glory of my own suffering. Perhaps just to tell you I had it worse.
Whatever it is, the mood swings, the thoughts, the logical paths, conclusions, reports that I file with myself; well they just aren't going to stop any time soon. Like Minnesota would be a could term to describe how I feel. Escapes to cabinesque places help me to forget, but the rude awakening Monday morning is almost too much to handle on some days. This week was a rough one, and if I had had today off, I could've handled it a whole lot better.
I got tired of the third grade teacher talks 15 minutes before they even happened, and I told myself what I've always told myself about situations that have no fix, and that's that eventually the pain, the suffering, the torment: it all ends.
The ball is out of my court in almost every aspect of my life. To have no control, to have no control in what you want, to have no control in choosing some basic freedoms. To have no control is to be a slave. A slave to work, a slave to the man, a slave to love, a slave. A slave is dire. And most dire situations, well we hope they all come to an end. Surely they must.
Fears Repress
Sitting here, the cloud just outside the window, I feel tired and worried. The lights cast their most romantic lighting they can produce. Helped by the thick air, they cause more effect than normal. It's surreal. My heart beats and my head thinks too much. I worry about all the decisions I have made, and those I have yet too. I think about all the decisions you will make, and the ones you already have. My heart beats into my stomach making me sick. I miss you.
I worry and think about my bed. The sheets wrinkled and unmade, marked and stained with the decisions I've made. I look the trash and hope that what I might have thrown away isn't already at the dump. The music only sways me to believe in my own drama, and it swells with every worried heart beat.
The grains of sand have stopped dropping, though I'm not sure whether it's just jammed and stuck in the top, or if it's just all ran out. I argue with myself about how stupid I can be sometimes, and it doesn't make me feel very good about who I am, or who I was. I try not too let the heart cause my head more pain, and think of only who I want to be.
I'm in the bathroom, but not sure how I've gotten there or how long I've been looking at myself in the mirror. I splash water on my face and can't tell if it was warm or cold. My face feels hot and could be bleeding the red at it's surface. The tears don't cool it down and I'm confused. Am I crying for myself or for you. The man in the mirror doesn't answer, but looks at me with pity. I suck in the tears, the snot and accept what I have done. The ship hasn't quite set sail, but it feels like the dock is further away. I don't know what to do about it. I feel stuck, and sad, and damn... I miss you. I miss knowing that you are there with me. I miss knowing that you love me. I wish I knew for sure.
The feeling might hurt more, and maybe I deserve it. They say, they say, but I don't believe it. And how could you just let it walk away. What if it doesn't come back. That's not a decision I can live with, and the one that got me here isn't one that I can either. Sometimes I don't peel back all my layers and let you in. I need, I want, I am. Sorry for this and sorry for that, and nothing I say fixes all under the hat. I reach down and struggle days, or even weeks to pick myself up off the floor. How can I expect to explain myself to you if I can't even explain myself to myself.
I feel sick. Everyday that goes by; it eats me. It eats at me. I struggle to breath like jumping in cold water. The wind is knocked out from me and I don't want it to return. Not unless it comes with the warmth I feel from you. I didn't thank you enough, or appreciate all that you've done. You might have saved my life, and instead of pulling you closer, I pushed you further away. Warmth in your eyes, comfort in your smile. Your touch, I'm crazy for it. I miss it. I miss you. I love you.
I worry and think about my bed. The sheets wrinkled and unmade, marked and stained with the decisions I've made. I look the trash and hope that what I might have thrown away isn't already at the dump. The music only sways me to believe in my own drama, and it swells with every worried heart beat.
The grains of sand have stopped dropping, though I'm not sure whether it's just jammed and stuck in the top, or if it's just all ran out. I argue with myself about how stupid I can be sometimes, and it doesn't make me feel very good about who I am, or who I was. I try not too let the heart cause my head more pain, and think of only who I want to be.
I'm in the bathroom, but not sure how I've gotten there or how long I've been looking at myself in the mirror. I splash water on my face and can't tell if it was warm or cold. My face feels hot and could be bleeding the red at it's surface. The tears don't cool it down and I'm confused. Am I crying for myself or for you. The man in the mirror doesn't answer, but looks at me with pity. I suck in the tears, the snot and accept what I have done. The ship hasn't quite set sail, but it feels like the dock is further away. I don't know what to do about it. I feel stuck, and sad, and damn... I miss you. I miss knowing that you are there with me. I miss knowing that you love me. I wish I knew for sure.
The feeling might hurt more, and maybe I deserve it. They say, they say, but I don't believe it. And how could you just let it walk away. What if it doesn't come back. That's not a decision I can live with, and the one that got me here isn't one that I can either. Sometimes I don't peel back all my layers and let you in. I need, I want, I am. Sorry for this and sorry for that, and nothing I say fixes all under the hat. I reach down and struggle days, or even weeks to pick myself up off the floor. How can I expect to explain myself to you if I can't even explain myself to myself.
I feel sick. Everyday that goes by; it eats me. It eats at me. I struggle to breath like jumping in cold water. The wind is knocked out from me and I don't want it to return. Not unless it comes with the warmth I feel from you. I didn't thank you enough, or appreciate all that you've done. You might have saved my life, and instead of pulling you closer, I pushed you further away. Warmth in your eyes, comfort in your smile. Your touch, I'm crazy for it. I miss it. I miss you. I love you.
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