I sit here at my lonely desk. My company isn't bad, but the racket of the days drag and slap across my face has left me wanting to be home. I wish I had enough imagination right now to close my eyes and feel the hot water of a shower beat against my back and neck. I feel sticky and nasty with a little sweat.
I start to cook up some food for this weekend in my make shift kitchen of the barracks, my soon to be once again home. I feel for those who go to prison for the living conditions they endure, but for me the punishment is for the good I've done and not the bad. I'm twenty four and haven't lived in such a tight-confined, rule regulated by the man place since I was in high school, and even then my parents didn't give me half the amount of stress that this place sometimes can.
I look at the finish line, and then remind myself that I still have the rest of the race there to run. I focus on what I need to do to better myself, and not just for myself. I look to prepare the lot of these young men to carry on the fight, to protect the freedoms I hope to enjoy a year from now. That, and to help them protect themselves from the bullshit, the grind, and death.
North Carolina is a nice place this time of year. I yearn to smell that first grass cut, and in the mean time sit on my porch with a cold beer. This summer appears to be a gauntlet in my path to freedom, and a North Carolina summer can be grueling. It's my senior year and I'm looking to enjoy it. The baseball park in Durham is going to be a hot stopping point for me, and I know I'll see you there. The lake, or the mountain, or the gorge, they all have sent their invites, and I've RSVP'd for both you and I. This summer, it's challenge, I will prevail.
Seniors OH TWELVE
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Just Another Day In The Life
Waking up to my neck now stiff and yelping with pain, I look at the fluorescent lights hovering thirty feet above my head. I move my neck emphatically to bring less pain, and make sure that no one else has moved, or that I haven't missed something. I check my watch. I don't remember what time we were supposed to start this whole thing, but I know better, no timeline is to be trusted.
I push up off of the cold concrete floor, and back onto the oddly shaped wood bench. I feel as if the harness I am wearing is now part of my body. It's a beautiful day through the window, but it's been a few hours since I've stepped outside. The parachute resting on the bench, attached to my back is one that I have never jumped before. A new model, and though I'm very trusting of the rigorous testing of this equipment, and confident in my abilities to successfully leap from an aircraft while in flight, I'm still a little nervous.
The bay door lifts with a racket and the C-130 aircraft is taxiing down the runway to where we will have to walk to it. Most of the time, I dread this part as much as any. Tired, sweating and carrying enough equipment to sustain for a week, you usually way around 400 lbs. It's a waddle, not a walk, and it's painful from the shoulders through the hips down to the knees and feet. This time though, in the clear blue North Carolina sky, I only carry the parachute today, and my body is thankful.
I've been in the harness for over three hours before we start to walk on the tarmac and towards the plane with it's tailgate down and awaiting our entry. That's a short amount of time considering that the manifest for the jump was conducted three hours before that. The propeller and engines blow loud enough that you can't hear without a yell, and the exhaust helps to make you sweat. We get tightly seated like sardines in the vessel and prepare for our take off and flight.
The seats are cramped, but spacious when you don't have any equipment for combat, just the chute and a helmet. The plane takes awhile to get ready, but eventually we are on our way. The initial start makes you lean against the buddy to the rear of the aircraft, as you sit perpendicular to the direction of flight. Eventually, after the rough jostling of the bird you're in flight and should be on the way to getting sick. The turbulence doesn't keep you awake, but it's quicker than you think and you're being told to stand up and hook up. The door is about the only light that lets in, and it's over and under the silhouettes of the paratroopers anxiously waiting the little green light to turn on.
The jump master gives a slap on the ass and a go, and the cable starts to pull. You feel the yank of a jumper outside the aircraft, his shoot just beginning it's first stage of deployment. You extend your arm straight out and walk behind the guy in front of you towards the tunnel of light. You hand your static line off to the safety and turn towards the door. You don't think anything at that point. There is not being scared, only perhaps the excitement of shortly being out of the parachute harness that's been your purgatory between relief and comfort. The first portion always is the same for me. I look at the horizon drop quickly, and then my head is forced into my chest and all I see is the sky, the plane, and maybe the confused look on my face.
The opening shock isn't bad, but then again I grew up spending summers at the local theme park. I look and make sure that the parachute is actually open, and then look around for others in the air. Yesterday was clear out, with no wind and Carolina starting to green beneath my feet, some 200 yards below. I float down like a feather, but feel like a brick. The ground comes, and with it comes me holding my breath and trying not to look down. Everything I've done to this point is entirely unnatural. I hit the soft sand of the drop zone and the parachute covers me. The silk, I can't seem to find it's end, and I'm buried. I crawl out and unhook. Urination is all I think of, and from a knee, liberation.
Pack up the shoot, now freed of the harness. It's a little bit of a walk for me to the turn in point, but probably a lot of bit for you. By the time I get there, the sweat has dried on the sides of my face, and I feel the coarse red clay on my cheeks that's been attracted by the southern humidity. It's only taught me about myself, but maybe not about life, just an experience to hold in my deck of cards. Perhaps there's more that I don't see, miserable and tarnished from the experience up front.
All the way?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Bounce Back
Life will always have it's challenges, it's up and downs, it's successes and disappointments. It's inevitable and learning to accept that is sometimes very hard. We often live in a world full of faith in who we are and what we are meant to do, and that is challenged on a daily basis by factors that we often times can't control. That test of our faith creates doubt, and though as Shakespeare said, "modest doubt is the beacon of wise." We sometimes carry that modesty a little far.
I've faced challenges all of my life, just as you have and everyone else who has lived on this planet. We are struggling against a lot of odds that we have, over time, eliminated their effect on living. We have food and water and shelter. With these basic needs already covered and taken for granted, we focus on self improvement and the things we 'want' in life but don't necessarily need. These are what we call dreams, and most of us never truly dream of our true potentials. We seek what we can see as attainable, not realizing that if we work a little harder, bounce back a little faster, have more faith in ourselves that we can dream bigger, and achieve more.
It wasn't until week three of SFAS that i realized how limited I would think about my physical capabilities. There I was with a rucksack and a contraption on my back with more weight than I even weighed. Every step was pain, and misery in almost every muscle. My brain was yelling, screaming for me to quit at every instance. I told myself that I would not, that I could not! I made it the 6 miles of misery with 185 lbs on my back and the soft sands of Camp MacKall underneath the soles of my feet. I had done it, and in the process of the physical pain had forged mental toughness. Had realized my potential was not even close to being met before this, and not even now.
Those obstacle we face in life, they are there to teach us about ourselves. We may find one to hard to carry or hard to cross and turn around. We fill our minds with doubt about surpassing them, and end up putting mental blocks on ourselves, that we can't do what is extremely possible. Opposition in our minds eye is often the greater of the opponent than our actual physical one to face. Even if we fail a first time, we much use a cliche or ultimatum as some kind of motivation to continue on, to try again. Because trying again is the moral victory we seek for self strength and courage. We will fail, we will not always make it to the top, but we must be willing to try again, and never settle for anything less than reaching our bests. Our doubt combats our faith and only we can choose who the victor is.
I've doubted plenty in my life. One thing that I will never allow doubt to creep in on; is myself. I will never doubt my own abilities. Perhaps, sometimes, I will not dream of their full potential, but whatever potential I presume I have, I will meet. There will be times when I fall short of what I'm after. If I try and try and try again and still fail, I will hopefully have the clairvoyance to understand if I can't defeat this obstacle, then perhaps I'm focused on the wrong one. Perhaps it's not the obstacle that I should be focusing on, but what lies beyond that obstacle. No one says that you have to defeat every opposition faced, so long as you make it to the end of the course.
Innovation, perseverance, clarity and resourcefulness are the parts of my tool of faith. I use that tool to fight doubt, and in the end that faith will bring me success.
I've faced challenges all of my life, just as you have and everyone else who has lived on this planet. We are struggling against a lot of odds that we have, over time, eliminated their effect on living. We have food and water and shelter. With these basic needs already covered and taken for granted, we focus on self improvement and the things we 'want' in life but don't necessarily need. These are what we call dreams, and most of us never truly dream of our true potentials. We seek what we can see as attainable, not realizing that if we work a little harder, bounce back a little faster, have more faith in ourselves that we can dream bigger, and achieve more.
It wasn't until week three of SFAS that i realized how limited I would think about my physical capabilities. There I was with a rucksack and a contraption on my back with more weight than I even weighed. Every step was pain, and misery in almost every muscle. My brain was yelling, screaming for me to quit at every instance. I told myself that I would not, that I could not! I made it the 6 miles of misery with 185 lbs on my back and the soft sands of Camp MacKall underneath the soles of my feet. I had done it, and in the process of the physical pain had forged mental toughness. Had realized my potential was not even close to being met before this, and not even now.
Those obstacle we face in life, they are there to teach us about ourselves. We may find one to hard to carry or hard to cross and turn around. We fill our minds with doubt about surpassing them, and end up putting mental blocks on ourselves, that we can't do what is extremely possible. Opposition in our minds eye is often the greater of the opponent than our actual physical one to face. Even if we fail a first time, we much use a cliche or ultimatum as some kind of motivation to continue on, to try again. Because trying again is the moral victory we seek for self strength and courage. We will fail, we will not always make it to the top, but we must be willing to try again, and never settle for anything less than reaching our bests. Our doubt combats our faith and only we can choose who the victor is.
I've doubted plenty in my life. One thing that I will never allow doubt to creep in on; is myself. I will never doubt my own abilities. Perhaps, sometimes, I will not dream of their full potential, but whatever potential I presume I have, I will meet. There will be times when I fall short of what I'm after. If I try and try and try again and still fail, I will hopefully have the clairvoyance to understand if I can't defeat this obstacle, then perhaps I'm focused on the wrong one. Perhaps it's not the obstacle that I should be focusing on, but what lies beyond that obstacle. No one says that you have to defeat every opposition faced, so long as you make it to the end of the course.
Innovation, perseverance, clarity and resourcefulness are the parts of my tool of faith. I use that tool to fight doubt, and in the end that faith will bring me success.
Doubt whom you must, but never doubt yourself. -Christian Bovee
Monday, March 14, 2011
Not For The Birds
The sunset was gone before I could watch it and I remind myself that I like sunrises better anyways. Time for the second slows way down and I can feel the second hand struggling it's normal progression forward. I will it to not move and try and freeze this moment of time like so many I've wished to have before. It's not a special occasion like the other ones I think of: California, City-Walk, or surfing at Mondo's. This one isn't anything but the pure moment of life and what the majority of what that consists of; nothing.
I don't want to offend you, so I bite my tongue every time I go to speak. You say this and that, but do the opposite. It confuses me and I start to wonder how the roles have reversed. I cling to my cloud of ignorance, but it begins to drip with rain and I'm soaked in stupidity. I see the signs, the target, but can't pull the trigger and put it down. These thoughts all happen at once and I can't even keep up.
I jump on the page my mind just flipped to. I have yet to crest the quarter century mark of life and yet I find a truth to be evident about myself. Never settle for second best. Never compromise for the things in life that will only leave you aspiring for more. It's a bitter taste to swallow when I think of the things my heart yearns for, and yet it still tastes sweet in the end.
A conversation today gave me a pen to draw conclusions and I took my artistic liberties with it. I'm young, but at my age if I'm not looking for something more permanent, something to experience and be happy about, then I'm wasting precious time. We could be gone any minute. Squandering time is a fear of mine along with settling for anything less than best. Knowing exactly what I want is easy, looking past that, looking past subtleties that don't paint that picture full will only leave me upset and unhappy.
I find all kinds of people interesting, and many women fun to kiss. It's tough to turn the back on some of that in order to fulfill my ultimate destiny. But it's a choice that I have, and exercise my right to do is compelled by a simple will to do better for myself in every aspect of life. I'm meant to do great things, with you or without you. I feel that the supplementary factors like who's involved in your life should make you strive even harder and further to fulfill not only my own dreams and finish my own sculpture of life, but to also help those around me achieve their goals.
Waiting for my sunrise
I don't want to offend you, so I bite my tongue every time I go to speak. You say this and that, but do the opposite. It confuses me and I start to wonder how the roles have reversed. I cling to my cloud of ignorance, but it begins to drip with rain and I'm soaked in stupidity. I see the signs, the target, but can't pull the trigger and put it down. These thoughts all happen at once and I can't even keep up.
I jump on the page my mind just flipped to. I have yet to crest the quarter century mark of life and yet I find a truth to be evident about myself. Never settle for second best. Never compromise for the things in life that will only leave you aspiring for more. It's a bitter taste to swallow when I think of the things my heart yearns for, and yet it still tastes sweet in the end.
A conversation today gave me a pen to draw conclusions and I took my artistic liberties with it. I'm young, but at my age if I'm not looking for something more permanent, something to experience and be happy about, then I'm wasting precious time. We could be gone any minute. Squandering time is a fear of mine along with settling for anything less than best. Knowing exactly what I want is easy, looking past that, looking past subtleties that don't paint that picture full will only leave me upset and unhappy.
I find all kinds of people interesting, and many women fun to kiss. It's tough to turn the back on some of that in order to fulfill my ultimate destiny. But it's a choice that I have, and exercise my right to do is compelled by a simple will to do better for myself in every aspect of life. I'm meant to do great things, with you or without you. I feel that the supplementary factors like who's involved in your life should make you strive even harder and further to fulfill not only my own dreams and finish my own sculpture of life, but to also help those around me achieve their goals.
Waiting for my sunrise
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Season Of My Life
The doors, we pulled off this morning. Like a butterfly emerging from it's cocoon ready for flight, the green, paint worn and faded Clinton era Jeep emerged ready for the warm Sunday ahead. The wind parted the hair on my leg as we whipped past the pines and other freshly blooming trees now arriving at the spring dance. They showcased themselves brilliantly, but only as a blur as we rode on by.
Spring, the word itself a toast to new beginnings. It rolls off the tongue and spins off the cheek all whilst carrying it's excitement in the bucket of freshness. It means that no matter what happened in the last year, no matter what didn't make it to winter or did or won't be back again, that at least most everything get's a fresh start. The second chance becomes more than a Cinderella story and you yearn for you fresh start, your beginning.
Perched on the passenger seat with enough care in the world to be anywhere the seat would take me, I couldn't help but notice that the wind was warm for the first time this year. I stretched my leg out as far as I felt safe for it, all the way. The wind chased itself around my leg and up to my shorts where it celebrated with playful flapping around my thigh. I can't hear the radio with the wind whispering in my ear and the road feels more like a carpet ride than a drive. I smell the pollen waiting to explode like a firework in the clear skies above. I poke my head back in, and let go of my tight grip of the handle at my ear.
The heat from the sun starts to crawl onto any part of me not covered in the shade of the Jeep and I let it advance, awaiting to spring my trap. It never springs and I welcome the invader with a helpless disposition. I try not to focus on anything but the wind as it raps against my exposed leg and arm. I'm alone all at once. It feels like an eternity until I blink and realize it wasn't that long. The things I saw, the things I did; just like the wind. I was free and soothing. Fluid and powerful. I was warm and cool. I'm in this season of my life, which makes more sense when I consider that I in fact am the season of my life.
Oz never gave anything to the Tin Man that he didn't already have...
Spring, the word itself a toast to new beginnings. It rolls off the tongue and spins off the cheek all whilst carrying it's excitement in the bucket of freshness. It means that no matter what happened in the last year, no matter what didn't make it to winter or did or won't be back again, that at least most everything get's a fresh start. The second chance becomes more than a Cinderella story and you yearn for you fresh start, your beginning.
Perched on the passenger seat with enough care in the world to be anywhere the seat would take me, I couldn't help but notice that the wind was warm for the first time this year. I stretched my leg out as far as I felt safe for it, all the way. The wind chased itself around my leg and up to my shorts where it celebrated with playful flapping around my thigh. I can't hear the radio with the wind whispering in my ear and the road feels more like a carpet ride than a drive. I smell the pollen waiting to explode like a firework in the clear skies above. I poke my head back in, and let go of my tight grip of the handle at my ear.
The heat from the sun starts to crawl onto any part of me not covered in the shade of the Jeep and I let it advance, awaiting to spring my trap. It never springs and I welcome the invader with a helpless disposition. I try not to focus on anything but the wind as it raps against my exposed leg and arm. I'm alone all at once. It feels like an eternity until I blink and realize it wasn't that long. The things I saw, the things I did; just like the wind. I was free and soothing. Fluid and powerful. I was warm and cool. I'm in this season of my life, which makes more sense when I consider that I in fact am the season of my life.
Oz never gave anything to the Tin Man that he didn't already have...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Chariot Ride of Spring
North Carolina is awakening from her winter slumber, and her first steps of spring are nearly a full stride. Today it rained, but was still warm, and I enjoyed the cool drops on the back of my neck as I went out my daily business. This is the third year I've been her for the oncoming spring, and most likely the last. Seasons are nearly like family to me. We are excited for them to come, but once they've been here awhile, we feel like they've over stayed their welcome, and we can't wait for them to leave. That's how this winter has felt.
Spring excites me, the days longer, and the nights warmer I look forward to the breezes that don't cut you down and turn you bitter. The humidity in North Carolina is about as bad as it gets, unless you travel further south. Spring is perfect because the nights don't stick your clothes to your skin the way her sister Summer does.
So far the time of this year is flying. March 10th and the Ides approach and though I'm happy about the speed at which the calendar turns, I can't help but think to myself that this is it. This is senior year. One more year left, no squandering it, no not doing everything I'm supposed to. It's weird that I've always been able to find a reason to celebrate, but I think on some levels, that's what we do as Americans. We find holiday in whatever we can. As a way to connect with each other, to be with friends and family.
I will celebrate spring this year. First in order is to welcome my parents right in time to Easter, and show them a little bit of the east coast with a trip up to one of my favorite cities; Washington D.C. If you have never been, you definitely should go. There is just so much of America there, so much pride in all of the hard labors and sacrifices that we as America's have done and accomplished. It's nice to see so much on display and my heart warms when I think about my place in this country's history.
I don't know what else the spring holds for me this year, but whatever it is I'm sure it will hold a constant. That of friends, smiles and good times. With the spring pregnant with so much fresh start and outdoor attraction, you can't help but to feel the tinges of excitement creep into the fibers of your existence and prime you for excitement. I breath in the pollen freshly forming on the trees, and watch as the trees give birth to new life on their limbs. Warmth has arrived, baseball and swimming as it's guest and all chauffeured by her majesty spring.
It's a beautiful day for a ball game...
Spring excites me, the days longer, and the nights warmer I look forward to the breezes that don't cut you down and turn you bitter. The humidity in North Carolina is about as bad as it gets, unless you travel further south. Spring is perfect because the nights don't stick your clothes to your skin the way her sister Summer does.
So far the time of this year is flying. March 10th and the Ides approach and though I'm happy about the speed at which the calendar turns, I can't help but think to myself that this is it. This is senior year. One more year left, no squandering it, no not doing everything I'm supposed to. It's weird that I've always been able to find a reason to celebrate, but I think on some levels, that's what we do as Americans. We find holiday in whatever we can. As a way to connect with each other, to be with friends and family.
I will celebrate spring this year. First in order is to welcome my parents right in time to Easter, and show them a little bit of the east coast with a trip up to one of my favorite cities; Washington D.C. If you have never been, you definitely should go. There is just so much of America there, so much pride in all of the hard labors and sacrifices that we as America's have done and accomplished. It's nice to see so much on display and my heart warms when I think about my place in this country's history.
I don't know what else the spring holds for me this year, but whatever it is I'm sure it will hold a constant. That of friends, smiles and good times. With the spring pregnant with so much fresh start and outdoor attraction, you can't help but to feel the tinges of excitement creep into the fibers of your existence and prime you for excitement. I breath in the pollen freshly forming on the trees, and watch as the trees give birth to new life on their limbs. Warmth has arrived, baseball and swimming as it's guest and all chauffeured by her majesty spring.
It's a beautiful day for a ball game...
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Landslide
I can't help but feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Perhaps it was the fact that for work this week, I have done literally nothing but stay in a 4 star hotel and drink fine scotch in a very comfortable bath robe in not to far away Chapel Hill. In my four years in the Army, I have never been privileged to such good treatment.
But pointing my finger in that direction doesn't explain it all. I've had a lot weighing heavily on my head, and am finally feeling like I'm lifting some of it. I've always been in a constant forward motion, but yet somehow still stuck. Today I feel like I can see through to the other side. The lights cracks through the blackness of the unknown and I can start to guess at what an immediate future beholds.
This week though, it might have been the turning point. I finally was able to understand what the writing on the wall meant, and took it to heart. I can't help but feel like Stevie Nicks wrote part of my life years ago, and I could hear it in one of her songs. I search around iTunes for a little while, but can't find anything to concrete.
The rain is pitter patting just outside my window and I find the sound all but relaxing. The monotony is constantly broken up by my youngest roommate. Ava, my roomies one year old cutsie pie. She's absolutely adorable sans the crying, but she's sick so what do I really expect? Her smile reminded me of earlier this afternoon.
I was on my way to get some frozen yogurt, and had just got done with my work and was still in uniform. I was in Chapel Hill still, and a uniformed man up there is kind of rare. Especially compared to Fayetteville. As I approached the famous YOPOP frozen yogurt bar, I noticed the table with girls in brown vests with their merit badges showing proudly. Girl Scouts, my arch nemeses. Not really, but they are so gosh darn cute that I just want to buy all of their cookies. The little blond girl kind of messing around at the front of the table, dancing or twirling or doing what any little girl does to pass through the boringness of selling her sugary delights, looked up and saw me walking towards her in uniform. Her eyes lit up with an excitement I feel I only once knew from my childhood. She spun around and ran towards a sign sitting at the bottom of the table. She picked it up, blond hair everywhere, and a smile that could melt your heart and gave a little giggle as I walked by. The sign said something along the lines of 'buy our cookies, the proceeds help to go support our troops.' Sometimes, life reminds you how precious it can be. How wonderful, how pure, and how remarkable a world we live in.
You might think that made her day. That her and her friends had had a slumber party and written some signs with the help of their mothers, and that a soldier, who part of their sacrifice was for would walk by. That it couldn't have been a better dream come true. It wasn't her or her fellow Brownies who were best served by my random appearance. It was me who had my day made. If that happened to me everyday, I don't think I could ever take off that uniform.
I climbed a mountain and I turned around...
But pointing my finger in that direction doesn't explain it all. I've had a lot weighing heavily on my head, and am finally feeling like I'm lifting some of it. I've always been in a constant forward motion, but yet somehow still stuck. Today I feel like I can see through to the other side. The lights cracks through the blackness of the unknown and I can start to guess at what an immediate future beholds.
This week though, it might have been the turning point. I finally was able to understand what the writing on the wall meant, and took it to heart. I can't help but feel like Stevie Nicks wrote part of my life years ago, and I could hear it in one of her songs. I search around iTunes for a little while, but can't find anything to concrete.
The rain is pitter patting just outside my window and I find the sound all but relaxing. The monotony is constantly broken up by my youngest roommate. Ava, my roomies one year old cutsie pie. She's absolutely adorable sans the crying, but she's sick so what do I really expect? Her smile reminded me of earlier this afternoon.
I was on my way to get some frozen yogurt, and had just got done with my work and was still in uniform. I was in Chapel Hill still, and a uniformed man up there is kind of rare. Especially compared to Fayetteville. As I approached the famous YOPOP frozen yogurt bar, I noticed the table with girls in brown vests with their merit badges showing proudly. Girl Scouts, my arch nemeses. Not really, but they are so gosh darn cute that I just want to buy all of their cookies. The little blond girl kind of messing around at the front of the table, dancing or twirling or doing what any little girl does to pass through the boringness of selling her sugary delights, looked up and saw me walking towards her in uniform. Her eyes lit up with an excitement I feel I only once knew from my childhood. She spun around and ran towards a sign sitting at the bottom of the table. She picked it up, blond hair everywhere, and a smile that could melt your heart and gave a little giggle as I walked by. The sign said something along the lines of 'buy our cookies, the proceeds help to go support our troops.' Sometimes, life reminds you how precious it can be. How wonderful, how pure, and how remarkable a world we live in.
You might think that made her day. That her and her friends had had a slumber party and written some signs with the help of their mothers, and that a soldier, who part of their sacrifice was for would walk by. That it couldn't have been a better dream come true. It wasn't her or her fellow Brownies who were best served by my random appearance. It was me who had my day made. If that happened to me everyday, I don't think I could ever take off that uniform.
I climbed a mountain and I turned around...
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Army Birthday Weekend
The reflection I look at in the pond of life has a ripple in it. It was that last week was a bad week and this weekend was so needed that it didn't go over well. Timing is never clutch. I was looking so forward to a nice weekend out with friends, a chance to catch a breath and take a mental time out from my normal life.
The Triangle area here in North Carolina I have a love for. Although I've only been living in NC for a few years, there's something about the wooded drive and nestled in cities that give me that satellite home feeling. I enjoy my time there, the people I meet, the things I do. This weekend I was relying on that. Splash, and the reflection is gone. Uncertainty puts his fingers in it and you end up in the wrong place at the right time.
Friday night was weird to say the least, and later we found out why it had to be that way. The Fayetteville meter was turned to far up and made the night harder to delve into. Then, upon a Saturday research on the internet, it became apparent. We were in the wrong place. Kevin Pollack had been doing a stand up routine in close proximity, and not only had we missed it but we didn't even know it was happening. The whole night was explained. We just went to the wrong place.
Saturday started out as Friday night had passed it's baton off in this relay. I woke up to the neighbors above my friend Ryan's apartment making more noise than most dance clubs allow. That and the blow up mattress had deflated mostly and my neck was screaming. Ryan and I made some waffles and drank some italian coffee his aunt got him. Even a trip to the gym couldn't break the funk. Finally the afternoon arrived, and with it it's knight in proverbial shiny and day saving armor.
I had lunch with a friend, and finally had a deep conversation with someone other than the three people that I normally do. It helped me put an eraser to some of the question marks my mind had drawn up over the last few months, and I was happy for the weight being off of my shoulders. Lunch moved too fast, but apparently not fast enough for our waitress and I was back hanging out at Ryan's apartment. Saturday night had to be better.
Ryan and Travis (still on his way back up from Fayetteville, and phone less with my Jeep), both had prior Saturday night engagements they had to attend to. They would rendezvous with me at a later point. I enjoyed a few more beers and watched the travel channel, found some pizza pie in the fridge and headed out to act as a loner. Little did I know, I was going to be acting like one.
After a few drinks, and watching the end of the Duke game, I ran into my friend the general manager at Natty's and threw a few darts to make sure I still had it. The night progressed faster than I had anticipated and a few missed calls, texts were part of the phone tag being played by me and my friends. I went to a bar where 15 minutes prior they were at, and couldn't find a trace of my buds. The night got later, and closing time was hitting. No one answers their phones at this time. They are all caught up in the last second digit swapping and the bustle and hustle of the exhaling bar. 2:30 and the Clarion is totally booked, except the Pres Suite at a nice round 250. I walk back towards Ryans, in the rain.
No one answers their phones and I find a nice place down the street to rest my head. I'm to nicely dressed to be homeless, but I think, then again it could be my first day. I woke up, damp and shivering and decided that Ryan must be home by now, or at least I can break in. Walking down the street and going over the bridge, a car pulls up next to me and traces my trickle walking pace. I'm not intoxicated and my fight or flight starts pouring into my veins. I turn and look to my opponent, and it's Travis in my car. It's 4:30. We find an all night open place and head to Ryan's where we debate how to break in. We use the oning over the bottom door and I shimmy the wall and open his window using my car keys. I kick in the screen and by 6:15 we're sleeping on the hard wood floor. About the only successful thing that happened all weekend, and it came down to using Army training.
Sunday was always the bitch she is, and other than the amazing sunset igniting the clouds with bright orange fire over Fort Bragg, the weekend has left me desiring more, desiring it to be Friday. For round two of March. It's my senior year after all.
Today, marks my fourth year of service to this country. To all those who I've met over the years, who I've known and cared about, who I never got to say goodbye to, I just wanted to say this: I love all of you my brothers, all you have done for me, yourself and the people of our nation. You will go without thanks, and be treated as sub society, take your licks and protect the rights of those who do not appreciate what they have. And you do it without question. You are remarkable men. It has been an absolute pleasure to have known you.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Un-Focus T H E Focus
Number of buildings from my apartment I had to walk after parking my car from mine totalled twenty seven. Thousand. The days have recently grown longer. Work is busy pit pat, but not busy tic tac. There, normal. But there, crazy. The seven's dwarfs cottage doesn't keep dirty and the deadly sins have been reduced to six instead of seven. Work runs like a race track with no cars, but them all driving backwards in my mind. The rubber smells of wax, and the strawberry I bit into tastes like tire.
It's days like today, watching the North Carolina sunset that I am reminded of the 82nd Chorus' horrible rendition of Carolina In My Mind. There are few songs that should never be redone by someone of less talent than Robert Goulet, and that's one of them. Another, Brittney's Womanizer. It's amazing what hearing even a crappy rendition of a song will remind you of, make you crave, make you feel. This morning was no exception to that. The sun was setting this evening, and I was happy to be at least away from work even if I was still working as I watched it. Most of the time, I'm still at work during that time and don't get to see the beautiful rays say goodbye to today. Goodbye to the world.
I don't know whether some of the decisions I've made in my life are going to make me stronger or weaker. I'd like to think that I face adversity and suffer the turmoil of life to come out on top, but day by day my idea of what I think is right and wrong fades to it's infinite shades of gray and I'm unsure of the consequence upon myself of my choices. I look to the round face, tattered and marked with itself, the only judge who will tell you what was right. Time. I wait for it's decision, it's truth.
I hear the heart beat in my ears and it tells me close my eyes. I slept too much last night and won't sleep enough tonight. I play some music and I don't recognize it even though I've heard it more times than I can remember. But never like this. The key to the soul, music that is, always seems to speak to your exact feelings and emotions. That's what good music does.
Short timers and long timers too, they all arrive at the zoo, spattered and clattered with a knack for disaster and call of master. I grab the thorn and feel no pain, let go and it hurts again. The sky is blue and so are you. You call me a cactus but meant to say snake. I regret me for you and you for me with a honey made from bumble bees. Your castle built isn't a keep and you don't hope to keep it, just preserve it long enough to move back in. It's growing mold and you're not too old but your race car goes faster than mine. You count to three and then we'll see if the running of the bulls will happen in your lifetime or if you just come up tomatoes. The random isn't funny, but it makes you wonder where I'm going and I can't even imagine, but I'm writing with my hands closed and my eyes not smelling, but at least my nose is seeing. The battle of this world known as my soul still rages on, but the fires have dwindled, the oxygen is gone. I sniff your roses but they don't smell to good, but their taste is amazing and I swallow two more.
I get off my kick because I'm tired and too overwhelmingly creative for my own good, and it's sucking me down. I push off the bottom because at that point of the maze you have to. My brain is thinking more than ever. It's a combination of things and with one more number I'll be able to open this lock, let the flood gates roll. I can't focus it's so much energy and I'm surprised that this made any sense. But it didn't, not to me, but maybe to you or to me and not you. It started focused, but with all things, except those other things I lost focus, lost my train of thought, couldn't remember all that I told myself not to forget, but can distinctively remember telling myself not to forget at the moment of such idea, of such clarity. I need a note pad, one I can operate while I drive. My brain is numbingly busy like the bee with honey and tonight maybe; I'm going to close my eyes and get a little taste.
ROBERT GOULET!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Go Back To Sleep
I had a horrible nightmare on Sunday night. It wasn't just that the wind was howling and the rain was hitting particularly hard on the side of the house. I'm sure the sleep was already anxious as most Sunday night's are, especially when I sleep up in Durham. The details of the dream are very vague compared to when I usually remember one. Although I can't recall what exactly was happening or how I even got to what I do remember, I know this; the emotions of the dream I felt were very real.
We never remember a dream's beginning, but that we are there. This particular instance, the thing I remembered the most was the screen door. I'm not sure where it was supposed to be, but it wasn't supposed to be where I imagined it. This room I had been in several of hundreds of times, if not thousands. The screen door, brown and weathered was where a usual window was. I had dreamt the door in this spot, and I'm sure with the help of the forceful winds rapping the trees, rain and other objects against the house, the sound was not all imagined or made up in my mind. The door, if I recall correctly, I was annoyed at. It had been banging repeatedly against something. Wind had not only knocked on it, but was now desperate to get the attention of anyone it could. I couldn't remember why, but my hands were wet and I had tears running down my face. The door kept slapping, kept beating up on literally nothing. But it was louder than the whistling wind whispering through the window.
I woke up at that moment and the scariest was this. My heart was thumping, beating fast and I wasn't sure how or why, or where I'd been, but I looked for the door, instead a closed window. It was darker than my dream, but the emotions felt the same. The door not there, but the wind whistling and playing tunes with the windows and branches outside. I was already sitting, looking around in the dark room. I looked over, having a certain feeling of death, and blood, and sadness. I grabbed the woman to my side, remembering at that moment why I was so flustered, why I was sad in my dream and now. She had been killed, murdered as I slept next to her. Of course, thankfully that had only been like the door of this upstairs room; part of my dream.
She resisted the urge to awake. But I had to know, know that she was alright. Tears streaking down my face. She moved slowly, and with sadness in her voice she rumbled, 'what's wrong?' The air returned to the room, and I replied, 'nothing, just a bad dream. go back to sleep...' She restlessly rolled back and forth for a second or two and then found her slumped pose again in the comfort of the sheets. I whispered, 'my love.'
Am I strong enough for this?
We never remember a dream's beginning, but that we are there. This particular instance, the thing I remembered the most was the screen door. I'm not sure where it was supposed to be, but it wasn't supposed to be where I imagined it. This room I had been in several of hundreds of times, if not thousands. The screen door, brown and weathered was where a usual window was. I had dreamt the door in this spot, and I'm sure with the help of the forceful winds rapping the trees, rain and other objects against the house, the sound was not all imagined or made up in my mind. The door, if I recall correctly, I was annoyed at. It had been banging repeatedly against something. Wind had not only knocked on it, but was now desperate to get the attention of anyone it could. I couldn't remember why, but my hands were wet and I had tears running down my face. The door kept slapping, kept beating up on literally nothing. But it was louder than the whistling wind whispering through the window.
I woke up at that moment and the scariest was this. My heart was thumping, beating fast and I wasn't sure how or why, or where I'd been, but I looked for the door, instead a closed window. It was darker than my dream, but the emotions felt the same. The door not there, but the wind whistling and playing tunes with the windows and branches outside. I was already sitting, looking around in the dark room. I looked over, having a certain feeling of death, and blood, and sadness. I grabbed the woman to my side, remembering at that moment why I was so flustered, why I was sad in my dream and now. She had been killed, murdered as I slept next to her. Of course, thankfully that had only been like the door of this upstairs room; part of my dream.
She resisted the urge to awake. But I had to know, know that she was alright. Tears streaking down my face. She moved slowly, and with sadness in her voice she rumbled, 'what's wrong?' The air returned to the room, and I replied, 'nothing, just a bad dream. go back to sleep...' She restlessly rolled back and forth for a second or two and then found her slumped pose again in the comfort of the sheets. I whispered, 'my love.'
Am I strong enough for this?
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