Wanting More

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