Thank you for your time..Goodbye.

We met on Christmas Day. The sun wasn't even up yet.

I wanted to know what it meant to you, to serve your country? How could you have explained it to someone you didn’t know? When I first met you, you told me right away. So easily, without any hesitation. But there wasn’t anything I could say in return. The explanation you gave was deeper and more profound than anything I could’ve imagined. There is more than one way to answer that question, with an infinite possibility of direction, but you said everything so simply, almost without saying anything at all.

Your apartment is in California. Your number is 108. You forgot to mention if there was anyone there waiting for you. I imagine there was. Why else would you carry so many calling cards?

What does the ring on your dog chain mean? Is it something romantic or is it a memory of yours?

You spoke of your faith. All the more evident, by the spiritual possessions you showed me. You believe in a higher purpose. And your not afraid to fight for one either.

I notice that you’re a SGT. I am too. So what kinds of things did you do to make life better for the people around you? I’m not trying to judge, I ask everyone this question, whether they know it or not. I just happen to notice the notebook you had. It had some notes in it. I thought they might be for your soldiers.

I forgot to say Happy Belated Birthday, you just turned 24 on the 18 of this month. Did you get to speak to your family? Did you get what you wanted from the person in your apartment?

I hope the watch you wear on your left hand, had ticked slowly that day, your 24’th birthday. I hope it ticked long enough for you to enjoy every second of celebration and memory you had brought with you.

Your platoon was hit by an RPG. What did you think had happened at that moment? Did you think of your country? Did you think about who was in your apartment, waiting for you? What do you remember about that day, about your life? There wasn’t enough time for you to ask yourself those questions, but I know you thought about it.

The RPG hit. It exploded and placed a hole inside of your body. In some mortal sense of divine justification, the whole was large and eternal. It was enough to release your sacrifice, the love for your family, your spirit and the inspiration of your fortitude.

The wrist that held your time was gone.

Thank you for everything. You’re an American Soldier. You took an oath and you honored your word. There couldn’t be a more perfect definition.

Your watch stopped ticking at 1436.

She died on Christmas Eve.

Her number is 2,166.

~Rolligun

Dad, do you know who your son is?

I got a large white envelope from my dad. It could have been for Christmas, but I think it was a timely coincidence. Inside this white envelope were the following four magazines…

1. DuPont Registry: A buyer’s Gallery of fine automobiles
(Did someone else give you this, and instead of throwing it out, you passed it on to me?)

2. Lewis & Clark the Corps of Discover
(This looks like it was published in the late 80’s, aside from that, why would you think I am suddenly curious about North American exploration?)

3. Archeology “Mysterious Mongolia”
(Ok. I will probably look at the pictures in this one, but wouldn’t this magazine better serve its purpose fooling visitors on a coffee table?)

4. Air & Space
(I’m not aero physicist, but I don’t believe the geometrically bizarre creation on the cover, was ever meant to fly. Ever.)

There was no card or any additional information accompanying the envelope. Just four magazines I have never read, and in some cases heard of, in my entire life. I was able to see his handwriting on the outside.

(I think he used a stencil?)

I am not surprised. For birthdays I’ll usually get another envelope, although not as big, with a small check and nothing else. No card. Not even a scribbled napkin. However, the memo line will usually provide some explanation as to why the envelope was sent. Also, it’s never in the right month. I know he knows the correct date. I just believe that particular part of the problem lies in “Time management” not necessarily in “parental oblivion.” Although occurrences such as this, are cause for great wonder.

My dad is a good man, god love him, but sometimes I just don’t know.

~Rolligun

Christmas Coal

I like Christmas. I like getting things and enjoy giving them as well. The holiday energy isn’t lost, on me. Despite any internal tendencies to become rather grinch-ish. There’s lots of lights and lot’s of money being spent (I have a business background, and I’m shameful spender, this holiday makes sense to me). Even the month itself is great. It has the best snow, large fluffy flakes, complete with a slow descend. December has the most smiles and the most excitement, in all of winter. January and February on the other hand, bring gray skies, icy snow, and harbor the dreaded “calendar row” (my term for boring days of charted dullness). Until spring finally arrives, the best season of all. In any case, I vote “nay” on having Christmas bi-yearly or anything less. I get it, when people talk of ad nuaseum family visits. But I avoid that problem.

When I was six years old, I was just like any other little guy this time of year. I was looking forward to PRESENTS. The concept of Christmas wasn’t something I was aware of, much less important to me. I just did what little boys do. When no one was looking. For all intensive purposes I was greatly deserving, on an annual basis, to be rewarded each Christmas, for my visible behavior. Thank you Santa, now turn around please, and look the other way.

I don’t intend on analyzing my childhood behavior for you, rather I aspire to paint a picture of Christmas morning. I had a dad who enjoyed asserting himself as the gift giving benefactor, next to the tree. I had a mom who would sneak early Christmas presents and an older sister who did her best to provide separation and drama to the event. Despite growing up in a disconnected household, I could always say I came from a generous assembly of residents. Lot’s of presents for all!!!

On Christmas Eve, I would go to bed unable to control my excitement just likes thousands of other fortunate kids. Santa isn’t aware of my crimes, tomorrow will be grand! The sooner I sleep the sooner I un-wrap. It didn’t take long for me to realize that falling asleep under these conditions wasn’t possible, so I did the only thing any logical six year would do. I convinced myself of imminent disappointment. Tomorrow morning nothing will happen, no presents are given. Forget it. None whatsoever. My ruse works and I fall asleep, under the impression that I will be exchanging households in the coming New Year. Whatever works I suppose.

I wake up and quickly remind myself that the bad dreams I had the night before were a result of my own doing, my medium to fall asleep. Off to the tree I go.

“Wake up, Wake up!”
“We got shit to do!” (I say something similar to that effect)

Everybody takes their positions. My dad kneels down by the tree. My mom (use to be a photographer) gets her camera, and positions herself at a 45 degree angle. My sister yells about something and plays with the dogs.

I have to wait for her and it pisses me off.

Eventually the festivities begin.

My dad hands out a present to my sister. She opens it and cheers. Flash, Click. My mom takes a picture. My dad then hands a present to my mom. It’s from one of our dogs. No pictures are taken. My dad looks at me, and hands out another present, to my sister. It’s from different dog, followed by another picture. Flash, Click. My dad looks at me again, and gives a present, to another dog.

“Quit fucking with me old man!”

I yell with all the conviction my little lungs could offer. (I may have edited that message before it was actually delivered.)

Somebody spills coffee or something and all activities are put on hold.

“Dammit! I’ll take care of it.”
We have presents to open. (If I don’t take control of the situation, it could an hour or more before I get my presents)

My Dad gets back under the tree and gives another present to my mom.
Apparently, it’s from me, and she thanks me for it.

“No Problem”

O.k. O.k. Let’s keep moving here.

The phone rings.

(Oh, bloody hell)

Rolligun, come say merry Christmas to your grandmother.

“No” (I am not ready to speak to anyone yet)

“Get OVER HERE!!!”

“Fine”

“But when I’m done I better be unwrapping something”

I delicately handle the holiday conversation with my grandma. I engineer a perfect balance between courtesy and expedience. It’s not an easy thing to do.

Alright, back to the tree. But first, I unplug the phone.

Everyone gets back into position. All ready to go. Then my mom decides she needs a different camera. My sister gets back up and starts playing with the dogs and her presents.

I wait, again.

I think about jumping out the window.

(Little did I know this training would pay off in the Army one day)

Finally!! Festivities resume.

For all those concerned, I have been an excellent example of a “big boy” all year long. I didn’t cry about anything. I didn’t destroy any of our own property. Didn’t run away once. Not one teacher or baby sitter had cried to date. Absolutely perfect. I am ready to receive.

My dad looks at me. I look at him. He grabs a present. I look at the present. He looks at me. He’s grinning. I’m not.

Here you go Rolligun.

(‘bout fucking time)

My mom changes angles and gets in position.

The present is small, but that is o.k. It’s heavy.

I unwrap this gift with ferocity of a wild dog, although I don’t eat the paper.

In my hands is a small, odd shaped and chalky object. It’s black.

And it’s a Lump of coal.

“…From Santa, To Rolligun”

“What the fuck is this?!!!”

Flash. Click.

My dad is grinning, my mom is changing film and my sister has taken it upon herself to look for more presents.

The dogs sit next to me, and they aren’t laughing either.

That’s it! I am putting plan B into effect.

January 1’st, I’m moving out. Not far, just down the street. I will also change all future philosophies on obedience. I think I will choose the “Whitaker” household. There are no other children, they’re old and move slowly. They also have a dog. It will make for a fine home, for me.

Afterthought~~

I was warned about this possibility, but I couldn’t imagine my dad would actually materialize such a cruelty.

I will always remember how much he enjoyed the event. At my delicate expense.

I never actually moved out. My parents did redeem themselves.

Also, the phone didn’t ring for the rest of the day. Woops.

~Rolligun

*Merry Christmas*

Reality

It’s sometimes hard to understand why we do the things that we do. How we come to feel the way that we do. Why one decision is made over another. These are all natural curiosities and questions in life. They can be applied one way or another to everything that happens. Generalities. In an attempt to apply select meaning to this assertion, I will focus on one venue in particular.

One of the most confusing platforms of misunderstanding is in the form of attraction. Attraction and any extension of it, whether it be relationships, dating, lust or the simple crush. Attraction can exist with or with out the conscious knowledge of two people. Even if the other person is unaware of the attraction, they still are a variable in the equation nonetheless. I do have a simple mathematical explanation as to why the notion of attraction is so much more complicated than the other avenues of life. Take for example, your personal struggles when it comes to your own handling of stressful events or what happens when you’re faced with decisions you don’t want to make? What about regrets? How come I feel this way? Everyone has asked themselves questions like this at one time or another, if you haven’t, I would say you’re not human, and the expression “ignorance is bliss” truly applies to you, in the strongest and most biological context possible. Your life is simple and empty, but you don’t care to know. Remember back on that episode of “internal confusion.” That episode you experienced, alone, all by yourself in a circumstance exclusive to you and only you. Now add another person. Intensify the equation by the inclusion of one. I warned you it was a simple explanation; it’s the difference between one and two.

It’s a matter of understanding two different sets of motivations. Two different sets emotions, two sets of perception and two sets of interpretation. Include all others I miss. Every factor multiplied exponentially by the power of two. With all that room for error, it’s no wonder that the stages of attraction generate so much confusion, heartache and misunderstanding.

It’s important to note the difference between perception and interpretation. The difference between perception and interpretation is, perception is what you believe to be true, while interpretation is what you deem the variable would believe to be true. It’s slight, but significant.

Inspirations for attraction are as unpredictable as anything else metaphysical. Attraction can be the result from year’s of acquaintance, triggered one day by a delicate smile. It could happen instantly, from the first time you see their eyes, and you witness more than a retina. It can grow from what you discover about someone or by what you learn from them personally. However, that knowledge may be disseminated. The possibilities are infinite. There simply is no explanation for the causes of attraction. The levels of certain chemicals in the brain can be measured, but that is only a symptom, not the cause. Sometimes the only rational explanation could be found in the alignment of the moon and the stars, but to my knowledge, the bounds of science, also, haven’t been able to predict, determine, or explain attraction. I’m sure Stephen Hawking is trying his damdest.

So what is my point? Am I here to self-indulge my own explanation concerning the principles of attraction? Would that even mean anything to anyone, or would they want their time back? How many questions can I possibly ask in a row?

My point is to bring the elements of unexplainable cause back to reality. To find away to bring functionality to a disabling equation. The only way, for me, to find the answers is to break everything down. The same process used in any sort of progressive mathematics. We begin by factoring the questions asked earlier. Ultimately, we want to set the equation equal to zero. That is the starting point for everyone.

What is my motivation? - What is her's? = Do we want the same thing?

What am I feeling? X What does she feel? = Emotional Anarchy.

(What do I believe – What do I think she believes?) / (What does she believe – What she thinks I believe) = Where does everybody come from?

Simplify the equation: Sum the totals and you’ll find it = The Chaos Theory

Start over and do it again.

Continue to Simplify and cancel out. This time rearrange everything. The objective is to bring the equation back down to zero. That is how to achieve function.

Otherwise, your solution is the Chaos Theory.

*Assemble this equation however you see fit, this is my perception only, yours may (and should) be different.*

Like I said, the purpose of my dissertation is to find a way to bring the elements of unexplainable cause back to reality. I don’t like confusions or distractions. Relationships, dating and crushes precede those results.

I like simplicity, reason and function.

Simplify the factors and cancel out the variables. The objective is to set the equation equal to zero. That is how to achieve function.

If you can’t solve it, can’t bring it all back down to zero, then it means that the combined attraction equals more than the sum of its parts. Then you may have something. A special circumstance for the two of you, and you are ready to move on to the equations of intimacy and love. I have never been there, so I can’t help. Good luck.

~Rolligun

What she should have said

I heard from Jessica, my old girlfriend.

When I last emailed her, I asked her “what was important to you.” I know she doesn’t know. I know she looks in the wrong places.

She never answers the question.

Well, she emails me back “….How are you?…Sorry I haven’t written earlier…I’ve been busy…I’m thinking of you…”

Um, Yeah…Say Goodbye.

Awkward Moment

I Wake up 0445…and spend the next two hours riding in a humvee on my way to another camp. The logistics behind this awkward moment include 3 ½ hours of sleep, an M249 (Saw/Machine Gun) and one sore ass (humvee’s aren’t known for their tender rides). My posture enroute was chin on elbow, head tilted sideways and one long blank fucking stare, into right field. Five years of Army discipline allowed me to keep this position for the entire two hours.

Once we got to our intended destination, the next logical thing to do was get out of the humvee. I didn’t find this process to be as easy as it sounds so I’ll try to describe it more accurately. I begin by detaching my chin from my elbow, placing the heel of my right hand against the temple of my forehead and applying steady pressure until my head reaches the upright position. Next, I burden my right hand, again, and attempt to open the interior door latch. It slips but I try again. Once this obstacle has been cleared, I task both hands with the responsibility of lifting my right leg and placing it on the ground. The momentum of my body causes my left leg to follow suit, although this pursuit isn’t as smooth as I assumed it would be. I bang my left knee on something and I don’t understand physics. Now that I am completely, or at least physically, out of the humvee, I reach in and grab my Saw (military nickname for the M249). This is the weapon I have been assigned to since the day I got out of basic training. It’s a badass weapon that requires two barrels (change for heat) and pumps enough lead to cut down a tree. I like it. It’s also twice the weight of an M16 and much clumsier, due to its size and additional extremities. Which in turn creates more opportunity for the weapon to get snagged on shit? With that said I reach into the humvee and grab my weapon. It gets caught on something. I pull harder. It releases itself and bangs into something else. Now that we’re both outside the humvee, I attempt to sling it around my neck and shoulder. I struggle for an additional moment and find this frustrating. I hope no one is watching me. The weapon is now successfully slung around my body. I initiate my first step in a forward manner.

After the course is set, I slowly begin to raise my head with out the assistance of my hands. Once this is complete, I rub my eyes and take another step. I’m starting to build a little bit of confidence at this point so I open my eyes further. They are met with the blinding glare of a foreign sun. Fuck. I rub my eyes once more, take another step and try again. Things seem to get easier in volumes of two. My fourth step is met with the presence of another soldier about 10 yards to my NW. I see the silhouette but that is all. By my fifth step I determine that this soldier is either an officer of the Army or an enlisted seaman (Navy). If it’s a seaman, I don’t necessarily care and continue to direct my attention towards completing forward steps. I take my sixth step and the soldier slows his pace and begins to stare at me. If it’s an officer I am required to execute the military courtesy known as a salute. I just came from a non-salute area, this location however, is a salute area. It takes me another step to identify this. The soldier is still staring at me.

I have the second piece of the puzzle in place, being that I am in salute zone, but I still don’t know if this soldier is a seamen or an officer. I take my eighth step. The soldier has since stopped. I’m not familiar with the designations of Navy rank. I’m tired and I’m partially blind. My ass hurts and my weapon is conniving to get caught again. I take my ninth step. The soldier glares.

Well, I’m at loss. I have too much going on at this moment to continue my investigation. So fuck it, I make a decision. I snap to attention and throw up a salute. The soldier takes one step closer to me. He returns the salute and just as quickly, steps off in the other direction. He’s a Colonel in the United States Army. He also makes dexterity look easy. Woops. Well, I felt like a dumb ass. I guess that’s the definition of an awkward moment, where at least one person fills that role.

~Rolligun

Quick post with a pre-emptive answer to Meghans Question

I'm still in the midst of day one with my new mission and new unit. Not much to report so far. The unit is from Puerto Rico, and they frequently look at me like I'm holding part of a cow when I speak. My sense of humor is also completely lost on them. I do laugh and smile and all that, but I otherwise tend to be straight faced with dry taste for humor. This only provokes more looks that suggest I'm retarded. We'll get through it in due time.

So far the day has been pretty casual with nothing to speak of, but that's the way the DAYTIME is suppose to be. Later tonight, which for me, is in an hour or so is when things are suppose to happen. I'm not sure how I feel about this...in the very near future I will be witness to physical causilties from the war today. I will see their bodies, or what remains. I will see their possesions. I will know their names. I won't forget.

"Change Step"

Meghan has recently posted about all of the difficiencies and problems caused by shorter dudes in society today. As if there couldn't be anything worse than being swayed by someone who knows your own chin better than you. As I said before, I am 5"7 and realize this declaration may prevent any future blogging crushes for me. If that's the case, I am o.k. with it and the world will still turn.

This post isn't the first time I have ever heard this objection, my first expieriance came when I was in the seventh grade. God was I cool back then. I just so happen to be dating...A GIRL, in the EIGTH grade. She was hot!!! And for two weeks of my life, I knew what it felt like to be a stud!

One night there was a dance.

I've been able to historically trace my hormones back to at least kindergarten, and this night was no different. All day at school I walked with a stride, nodded at people in the hallways and pointed my finger as if to say hello. So cool. I gave dating advice to all my friends and dressed to impress.

"The dance"

It got off to a great start...my dad dropped me off a block away so I looked like I just came walking out of the wilderness, and automatically prepared to entered the stage.

There I found Katie, the beautiful and taller than me Katie.

We laughed and talked. I continued to nod and point. And then, things took a cruel and twisted turn of events...the first slow song had just begun. I wasn't afraid. I was a stud! Ready to perform my duites as an intimate dance machine.

The slow dance begins.

We rock back and forth, back and forth and slowly complete perfect 360 degree circles. Pretty much the same with all adolescent couples back then.

Every 90 degrees, I nodded at someone. Didn't care who it was. I just fucking nodded every 90 degrees.

At the end of the dance, we separted and took a customary timeout and headed back to our corners to converse with our ring coaches, or friends.

As I stand there, sharing glorious tales of success about being with an "older" woman, one of Katie's friends approaches me.

Katie's friend: "Rolligun, Katie doesn't want to dance with you anymore"

4'6 Stud: "What?!?"

Katie's friend: "She says you kept going up and down on your tip-e-toes"

4'6 Boy: "I was not!!!"

Katies' friend: "She says she doesn't want to dance with you anymore. She was embarrassed."

What the fuck!!! I was ready to beg and plead with Katie, to promise her that I could keep consistant altitude in the future. But by the time I found her, she was already hanging out with a boy in her own grade. His name was Gary and he smoked cigarettes. At twelve years old, I wasn't prepared to compete with five inches and tobacco.

No more nodding that nite, my head was down, permanently.

Mission Change

Finally I have been released! I have been tasked out to another company for a new mission. Five months (three in country) of being both a problem and a solution for my LT.

“Oh’ say can you see…”

I just found out this morning, knew nothing of it. I leave tomorrow. Start tomorrow. It will be my third change of residence since I have been here. The first two were with my company, this one I leave solo. Tonight, I pack my shit.

2Lt: “Sgt Rolligun, I need to speak with you.” {always with the hands, (what is his deal?)}

Me: “Yeah”

I thought this was going to be my weekly lecture and turn into another homework assignment. (I may write about those someday)

I have been pleading and volunteering for things that don’t even exist. That’s how bad I wanted out. Originally I was trying to go further north, and was hoping to jump on one mission in particular come February or so. That may not happen anymore, it may have never happened. But I’ll take this. I wasn’t necessarily given a choice, my company commander needed someone and my platoon SGT suggested me, good ole LT obliged.

Thank you and GOOD BYE.

I have spoken very little of my old mission, in part because of OPSEC (Operational Security), but also because it was painfully uneventful. Trust me, you weren’t missing anything by me not writing about it. This new mission, however, is a whole different story. I won’t be going on patrol or living in a combat zone, like Chairborne does. I will still be stationed in Kuwait, but it may provide more opportunity for travel, experience and service.

Anyway here’s the jist of it. It’s kind of fucked up. Basically, I will be attached to a mortuary affairs unit. My job will be to inventory and filter the final possessions of our proudly deceased. To classify and collect, as well as making sure there isn’t any conflicting, embarrassing or illegal stuff leftover, that eventually goes back to the family. My excitement definitely tampered a bit when this was explained to me. I could have backed out if I really wanted too; my commander asked me if I could do it, if I could handle it. I accepted.

As the mission was being explained to me, my mind started to wander and I thought about what the hardest part will be. Here goes. It will come when I have to start watching the home movies. A home movie of say, a birthday party held for the absent soldier. A video that was previously sent to the deceased to say “we miss you, we love you, whether you are here or not we will celebrate for you, we’re proud of you.”

(As I write this, one of my roommates, a father, is smiling and stops me to share his own home video with me. It’s about his daughter, davy crockett and apple seeds) This is what I am talking about!!!, something graphic and physical, something that brings infinite happiness to him as he misses his family…What timing.

I watch him smile.

I smile.

Back to the hypothetical video.

The video will be full of laughs and excitement. There will be a proud and anxious spouse lighting candles on a cake. Everyone doing everything they can to celebrate their love and pretend this feeling of absence doesn’t exist. There will be young kids frolicking around in the back yard with birthday hats on. Missing part of their world, but celebrating just the same. The video will end with an enthusiastic…

“Happy Birthday!, We love!!, Come home soon!!!.”

The whole family blows out the candles together, makes a wish, and the video stops.

Never in my wildest imagination have I ever thought I’d being doing something like this. I am not even sure if this is something I want to do, although a little late now. I just wanted OUT of my last mission and I couldn’t work for my LT. But what the fuck!!, I am not a mortician. I don’t even like doctor visits. I’ll quarrel intensely with anyone who wants to stick me with a needle. It won’t be an easy process. Well digress, I’ve been disillusioned with my role over here anyway, this definitely is something different.

I wonder if they’ll let me write letters to these people.

One step further…

I will be sorry to leave some of my troops. I have some good relationships with them. I take pride in the fact that I’m kind of the alternative SGT, the one who they can talk off the record with. Balance and variety is my forte.

I will also miss SGT Oscar, we were the only two people who fought for things. We have twenty miserable soldiers, who keep asking “what and why.”
Despite never ending headaches, we tried to establish as much reason and sensibility as we could. I really admire this guy, he’s about fifteen years older than me, but is probably the most gifted “people” person I know. He’s also a career professional in his civilian life, and I’m just getting started. He doesn’t know it, but I quietly assigned him as one of my mentors. I tend to do that sometimes, even without them knowing about it.

Still, I am happy to be leaving.

I don’t know how long I will do this and I am not sure what happens next, but in any case, I leave tomorrow.

~Rolligun

"A Million Little Pieces"

My sister sent me this book. She’s an organic type of girl, a Psychology Grad, and very intriguing.

I started to type a quick description about the book, but then I realized I could just retype what‘s on the back of the book. An editor was already paid and tasked with providing that message. Where do I get the temerity to redo the work? Here’s the back of the book.

At the age of 23, James Frey woke up on a plane to find his four front teeth knocked out, his nose broken, and a whole through his cheek. He had no idea where the plane was headed nor any recollection of the past two weeks. An alcoholic for ten years and a crack addict for three, he checked into a treatment facility shortly after landing. There he was told he could either stop using or die before he reached age 24. This is Frey’s acclaimed account of his six weeks in rehab.


I thought this book was outstanding! Simple. Telling. Angry.

It’s a glimpse of addiction at its worst. Uncontrollable, disabling torment.

It’s a true story, and I actually have a friend who attended the same treatment facility.

I could be alone on this one, but I have asked myself “why did I do (or so much of) that last night.” Only to answer with, “Don’t worry about it now.”

Or

…”what will happen if I keep this up?” Only to answer with, “…it feels good now.”

Instant gratification. Compounded. And Repeated.

I’ve woken up feeling like shit, broke, and unprepared for the day.
The sun not shinning for me. I’ve worked hard all day,
Completing motions and tasks, Looking forward to the release,
A change of perception, A change of angles,
I embrace, not fear, the alternatives.
What will I find out? What can I solve? What is avoided?
Recuperation.
More Perception, More Angles, More Answers.

More.

Now.

I am no were near the afflictions of James Frey. Thank god.
But I can feel, I can imagine.

Experiment. It’s an interesting word.

I would be a closer reflection of my friend. Mainly I drank too much. The only difference being that I have never lost it, never did anything I didn’t want to do.

I’m not her, I’m not James Frey.

However that doesn’t vindicate me.

I am who I am.

I have questioned my own habits and motives.
I believe in self-awareness, self-criticism.
If you can’t question yourself,
How will you grow? What will you learn?

Is anyone else guilty?

~Rolligun

Directions For Your Mind...

In high school, I took a creative writing course. Why, I am not sure. It probably included the same logic that inspired me to also choose home ec and welding. Regardless of curriculum, I was truant for everything. My teacher was old and eccentric and I liked her for that. I don’t remember her name.

I thought about one of the assignments she gave us. I don’t know how I came to think of this, but in any case, the instructions were as follows:

Step One…Locate Pen & Paper
Step Two…Apply Pen to Paper, and under no circumstances will you stop applying pen to paper. Just keep writing.

Actually, I think her directions were a little different. This is a paraphrased recollection; however the premise remains the same. Just keep writing.

The idea is too write without stopping. Even if it means you begin counting or naming. Anything chronological or any form of continuous identification will do, so long as you don’t stop applying pen to paper. Just keep writing. Eventually you will begin to write things you never would have thought possible. You may surprise yourself or you may learn something new. You may find answers or you may start asking the *right* questions. Just keep writing.

I believe it is called “Free Association Writing” although I am not positive. The objective is too tap into your sub-conscious by continuing to write. A conscious form of dreaming. Just keep writing.

It is my nature to question everything.

Why did that happen?
Where did that come from?
Why do people do what they do?
What will happen next?

I dwell on the answers.

Sometimes you have to find a creative solution to figure things out for yourself.

I don’t remember my dreams, so this sounds like a good alternative.

Just keep writing.

~Rolligun

No Devise Ergo No Title

Here is a disorganized rendition of three days this past week. Opening scene is another conversation with my platoon leader, my nemesis.

2LT: “SGT Rolligun, Do you want to go on a mission, actually it’s more of a class, but its good training. {The hands begin shaping the air}

Me: “What is it for?”

2lt: “It’s for so and so, I need to have someone certified” {they are impulsive, move like cerebral children}

Me: “That has nothing to do with our mission”

2LT: “Its good training” {their afflicted, the hands are afflicted}

Me: “What are my options?”

2LT “You don’t have any, it starts on the 9’th and runs through the 11’th” {the right hand executes an acute karate chop}

Me: “Fine”

2LT: “It’s good training” {The left hand breaks the same board}

Me: “Fine, are we good here? I gotta get goin.”

2LT “Yes, you can go” {the hands resume the default position, just floating, ready to speak at their own will}

Me: “Alright”

I turn and begin walking.
Left foot, and Right foot, left, then right.
Chin up, jaw clenched, straight ahead

{Fuck You!} I think Out Loud, a Little too Loud


2LT: “SGT Rolligun” {the hands, each pointing in different directions}

Me: I stop, Say nothing. Had said nothing.

2LT: “Did you say something?” {I think he truly desires to conduct music}

Me: “Excuse me?”

2LT: “Did you say something?” {Chorus}

Me: “What do you mean, sir?”

2LT “Did you just say something?” {More Chorus}

Me: “I said excuse me.”

2LT: “No, before that” {he signals the percussion section}

Me: “Before I said excuse me?”

2LT? “Yes!” {Frustrated…the whole damn orchestra begins to play}

Me: “Alright”

2LT: “No?!?!” {The pinnacle of harmony is flowing}

Me: “What?”

2LT: “Nevermind” {The hands bump into to each other, twice, and no more music}

So I was given a choice, a choice with one possible answer (still almost got it wrong) to go on this mission or class or training, depending on which moment it was described to me. I was told only of the type of certification and of the dates. The dates were wrong. I was to start the next morning. Didn’t know that. It took place at another camp, didn’t know that either. Holliday surprises.

I was already scheduled to travel somewhere else, twice this week. Once to pick up equipment and supplies, and the other trip was suppose to be for two of my soldiers who are on the “Weight Control Program.” One of my many roles, I’m also the weight control NCO. I was to take them to their follow-up appointments. Both missions put on hold, for this.

Thirty hours, three days, no big deal. My only challenge is to figure out how this will apply to what I am doing. It doesn’t, I stop figuring. At least I get to get a way for a few days. I leave at 0500.

The next day I arrive at the new camp. I haven’t been here before. It looks exactly the same as the place I came from. Although it seems a little bit brighter, and the air a little lighter.

I walk around aimlessly until I stumble across my temporary billets. It’s a large white tent, large enough to bed fifty. The inside is full of naked mattresses, lying carelessly on broken bunk frames. Two soldiers have already placed their stuff on a couple of the bunks and left. I search for a functional, relatively clean looking bed. I’m picky, it takes awhile. I think I see a dust bunny, inside.

I head to the class.

The class is taught by civilian contractors. It’s another white tent. The main instructor is wearing some sort of eyewear. They could possibly serve as assistance for his vision, or they just as easily could be protection from the sun. I am not sure which.

Guy with Dual Purpose Eyewear: “Good morning everybody, it’s good to have you here.”

Class: {blank stares}

Guy with Dual Purpose Eyewear: “I will be your main instructor. We have lots of exciting material to cover!”

Class: {blank stares}

Guy with Dual Purpose Eyewear: “We just started teaching this stuff, in theatre, this year. We have done 200 soldiers so far. You guys are history in the making. Although it’s not written down anywhere.”

(Pause for laughter)

Class: {blank stares}

We begin the class.

I take notes. I rub my eyes. I Miss something. Take notes. Rub eyes. Miss something.

Ten hours later, the day’s class is done. I leave, search for the gym and find it. It’s another white tent. When I’m done working out, I search for an internet café. I find it. It’s a little white trailer. This will do. But first I wait, in line, I hate lines. I wait in fucking line. Next to a little white trailer.

Once inside I quickly commence my usual routine. Email. News. Bank Account. Sports Headlines. Finally, my latest venture, blogging.

Surprise, Surprise! I have been tagged. This is interesting, I’ve read them but never been apart of one. It looks like fun. I have eighteen minutes to reply. There are soldiers waiting in line.

I finish and walk back to my tent, large and white with broken bed frames. Once inside, I see the other two soldiers.

Me: “hey what’s up” (as I walk by)

Dude: “hey, were you in that class today?”

Me: “Yeah”

Dude: “you looked familiar”

Me: “yeah”

Dude: “well, good night”

Me: “yeah, good night”

The class starts again at 0700. I set my alarm for 0635. Five minutes to dress. Five minutes to shave. Five minutes to brush. It’s a ten minute walk and I have no intentions of eating breakfast. I never do, sleep comes first.

At 0600, the other soldiers wake up. Lights go on. A bed frame breaks. I wake, but try to ignore them. I have 35 minutes.

At 0620…

Dude: “hey man, wake up. We got class at 0700”

{Yes I know, this is true}

Me: “okay, thanks. I got it”

Dude: “It’s 0620”

Me: “I know, I got fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

I wake up on time, at 0635. I do everything a minute faster than the prescribed time and make it to class four minutes early.

We have tables now, but only so many. The seating arrangements from the day before, that I had hoped would transfer over to the next day, were no more. My usual position, in the back left of any room, whether it’s a class or a waiting area, has been taken. My new position is closer to the front and directly between two other soldiers. This new location doesn’t bother me so much as the lack of personal space. I’m not just picky. I also want as much room as I can have. In every situation. I look at the back left. My arms move only from the elbows on down.

There is a female soldier next to me, she attempts to kill a fly.

Class begins.

Today’s teacher stands sideways when he speaks. Always facing to our left. There is nothing of particular importance about the wall to our left.

Sideways Guy: “Good morning everybody. We have lots to cover today.”

Class: {Blank stares}

I rub my eyes.

I wonder if the sideways guy is wearing a toupee. I don’t care, I just want to know for sure. I think about asking the female soldier next to me, but she’s watching a fly. I leave her alone.

Sideways guy goes through his power point presentation while looking at the wall. I can’t see his right arm. Part way through, he takes a break and another guy steps in to talk about something else. He stands directly in the middle of the room. In the middle of all the tables, and directly in front of me. As he speaks, he takes one step to his right and two steps to his left. This process continues to repeat itself until he gets to the end of the tables and starts over. As he speaks, he decides he needs a volunteer to include in his lecture. He doesn’t need someone to demonstrate any form of action, just the name of somebody. I sit quietly and take notes.

Guy in the middle of the room: “So what would happen if…err…(he looks at me) SGT Rolligun comes across this situation. What should SGT Rolligun do?”

I rub my eyes.

Am I supposed to answer?

Class: {Blank stares}

The guy in the middle of the room answers his own questions and continues to use me, or my name, as an aid in his presentation. It catches me off guard, but I’m o.k. with it. It gives me a warm feeling of convergence. I want to stand next to him. One step to the right, two to the left. I know the pattern.

Instead, I take notes. Rub my eyes. Try not to miss anything.

Class: {Blank Stares}

The female soldier tries to kill another fly. She misses, again.

At the end of the day, I look for the white tent that has a gym inside it. It’s between two other large white tents. When I’m done I look for the white trailer. The line is to long. Fuck it. I go back to my tent. It takes twelve minutes this time.

The next day class starts fifteen minutes earlier. So now I wake up at 0620. I thought this would please the other two soldiers. They don’t seem to care.

Class Begins.

Guy with Dual Purpose Eyewear: “Last day of class, is anyone gonna miss me?”

(Pause for laughter)

Class: {You get the point}

I take notes. I rub my eyes. I Miss something. Take notes. Rub eyes. Miss something.

We take a break at about 1000. I happen to exit the door at the same time as another soldier. An inevitable conversation is required. He’s funny and I like him. But I’d rather just think to myself and get some air. This doesn’t happen.

Class continues till we break for chow. The soldier from this morning glances back at me as everyone starts to leave. I pretend to shuffle papers in some fashion of importance. He passes. I head to the chow hall, eat quickly and return to my seat in the middle of the room. I look at the back left corner and wish I were there. I am early, so I start to read. A different female soldier returns and sits two seats to my left. She starts to read a magazine. She reads aloud and begins to do some sort of bizarre stretch. She is still in her seat and it looks awkward. Despite my curiosity, I continue to read.

Class resumes.

Guy with Dual Purpose Eyewear: “Were almost done, two more sections. But we could go longer.”

(Pause)

Class: {Blank Stares}

Class continues on and on.

I take notes. I rub my eyes. I Miss something. Take notes. Rub eyes. Miss something.

The female soldier next to me finally kills a fly. I congratulate her and she laughs. It’s the only thing I said to her.

Eventually we finish and to conclude the course, we actually had to take a class picture. Allegedly for head count purposes. I usually don’t like having my picture taken, but I don’t ask any questions. Although I have them.

Well that’s my latest post with no devise and essentially, the last three days of my life. I leave tomorrow morning.

I will wake up at 0610.

~Rolligun

Tag Return "2005" ala Steph

1. What did you do in 2005 that you hadn't done before?
That one’s easy…stop everything and put my life on hold, move to the middle east and otherwise get activated for “Operation Iraqi Freedom.” First time.

2. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No, I asked them to move…politely.

3. Did anyone close to you die?
Not physically

4. Did you travel? Where did you go? Best holiday memory?
Travel, not so much. I moved almost three hundred miles, but that’s no big deal. Of course, I got activated, but I can’t classify it as travel. I am told where to go and what to do.

Best Holliday memory…none this year. I didn’t really celebrate anything. But I do like holidays.

Well wait, it wasn’t validated by a “calendar date” but my best memory would be that some my friends made some serious sacrifices and travel plans to see me before I left. That was cool. I didn’t expect it and told them not too. I’m glad they did.

5. Best thing you bought?
Laptop and Ipod…really paying big divdends these days. My stock holders should be happy with me.

6. Where did most of your money go?

Old girlfriend and lawyer (they have a reputation for a reason*)

7. What do you wish you had done more of?
I wish I spent more time at the beach with my dog.

8. What do you wish you had done less of?
Interviewing for jobs (early) and wiping sand off of shit (everyday)

9. What kept you sane?
Dog walks, music, alcohol

10. What drove you mad?
Job hunt…old girlfriend…lawyer…leadership (see 1000 post)

11. What made you celebrate?
Finally getting good job! (followed by deployment)

12. What made you sad?

Nothing, o.k. wait… dropping off “Rollie” my dog, at my grandparents. I wanted to take him on one last walk (super long one) but it had been storming out and he didn’t want to particpate. Scared shitless of rain and all that, even if it clears up, he takes the day off. No negotiation whatsoever with him.

13. How was your birthday this year?
Not the best one ever, didn’t want to be where I was.

14. What political issue stirred you the most this year?
elections, foreign policies (Iraq, Iran, North Korea)

15. Where you in love in 2005?
No

16. What would you like to have in 2006 that you didn't have this year?
Two different worlds, can’t compare. I won’t be back for good until fall of 06, but I am looking more at 2007*

17. What date from 2005 will be etched in your memory and why?
July 5, the day my orders began

18. What song will remind you of 2005?
”I’m Not Okay”, My Chemical Romance. Not nearly as significant as other songs in my life, but will do for 2005.

19. Compared to this time last year are you happier?

It’s all relative…but sure

20. Biggest achievement this year?
Winning one court thing, getting a good job, and answering when my name was called *by uncle sam* (not so much an accomplishment, but is a source of pride)

21. Biggest disappointment this year?
Losing one other court thing and too much time fumbling around with ridiculous jobs

22. What is the one thing that would have made you more satisfied?

Finding my last job much earlier. Being with the right person (but that doesn't fall on any given year, it measured by a lifetime)

23. Best new person you met this year?
There are some cool people in my unit that were cross leveled in from other states. I won’t discriminate, I like them all.

24. A valuable life lesson you learnt this year?
The things you may think are really important to you are not necessarily what really is. (still working on this one)

The Thousand Word Essay

Disclaimer: Sometimes I like to pick on the simple stories in life. The following is in no way a representation of my biggest concerns in this war. It is merely a tale of true absurdity.

Alright, the purpose of that was to alleviate any attitudes that may arise from my ranting. I am now able to comfortably direct your attention to my story.


“The Thousand Word Essay”

In order for there to be balance in my life, I need opposition. My platoon leader or first line commanding officer, fills that role admirably. To give a quick character description that includes absolutely no bias, this guy is a complete fanatic. He has my respect; however he will never get a Christmas card, from me. He believes in only two things or shall I say two categories; right and wrong. And before any of you bleeding hearts get the wrong idea and say “oh how wonderful” please remember my unequivocal and accurately captured description of him with only one word…Fanatic!

Also, before I go any further, I will take the time to note that there is no such thing as “black and white.” The world, in all its complexities, is full of factors and conditions, manipulated equations, and chaos. Don’t sit there and tell me about black and white, even a rainbow could prove otherwise. So, now that I have explained myself and brought you all back to my side, I will continue.

Our Platoon Leader is under the impression that without his presence, the world would stop turning. If there is a rule to be made he would be sure to do so, but not without first following the bureaucratic process to come up with a preparatory rule to serve as an introduction to the original, unnecessary rule. I completely loathe this philosophy; rules on top of rules. The last thing I want is more regulation. The good news is I am not the only one who feels this way. The bad news is that nobody else has ever taken it upon themselves to inform him of this problem.

This is where I come in, a self-appointed committee of one.

The latest “guideline” that I took offense too may seem rather trivial to the untrained eye. But don’t let that discourage you from seeing my side. The “white” side...O.k., nevermind that, (my alliteration attempt). Just keep an open mind and remember that the important thing here is not the subject detail but the “big picture.”

Here goes...

“SGT Rolligun, I want you to tell your guys that there is no use of smokeless tobacco on duty”

“I beg your pardon………sir?”

(Remember open mind and big picture)

My chosen course of action was to stare at him blankly, pause, and then immediately leave to collect my thoughts. Once I completed reflecting on what had just happen, I was ready to re-approach the situation to explain my concern and instill in him the voice of reason. We quickly fell into our pattern of circular discussion before he finally agreed to consult the other squad leaders and reevaluate his decision. Temporarily satisfied, I left and began preparing for our next encounter. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that he would actually change his mind, because first off, that has never happened and secondly, pride will always prove to be the most challenging of all barriers.

A quick background of the dispute included this and that about cigarettes, clean-up and professionalism, but his real objection, unadmittingly from him, was simply that it was “bad” or black. Whether partaking in smokeless tobacco is an intelligent decision or not, I don’t believe that to be relevant explanation. It is simply not against the decree of our military, civilian, or foreign host for that matter. Adding to a regulation, unfortunately, is one thing while rewriting the law is another.

Anyway, all of his blathering was mixed in with the usual dose of generalizations and analogies that come complete with an annoying habit of physically gesturing his hands in such a way that he assembles his ideas into a little ball right before your eyes. As if all appropriate reasoning was readily available just floating around in orbit.

Even without using the aid of my limbs, I had successfully defended my argument against every single atmospheric objection he had. But the real issue wasn’t what we spent most of our time debating, although I delicately devoted some time to addressing it.

The real problem I have is when these guiding principles are imposed upon me and my troops that in no way affect the professionalism or function of the mission in question. It’s when these “guidelines” interfere with the personal choices of the soldier, that I take great offense. I don’t believe the value system of any one individual should trump the personal decisions that are inherently within ones right to make.

Round Two

I knew going in that SGT Foxtrot would agree with LT, because he has no vested interest, and is easily manipulated. I also knew that SGT Oscar, would agree with me. He’s strong minded, has perspective and is equally frustrated with our platoon leader’s excessive need for control. And if it was one thing only that I knew, it was that no matter what, the platoon leader wasn’t going to change his mind. At this point talking to him is merely a formality in following the chain of command (1SG & Commander are miles and miles away). I had been preparing to take this issue to the next level, not because of the “policy” alone, but because it is representative of the “big picture.” There you have it. That’s why I can become so ardent over the little things; there is always the “bigger issue” that I am worried about.

So my whole objective in round two was to accept my momentary defeat, relieve myself from the position of parade rest, and continue on with my agenda. By no means was I planning on being done at this point. Unfortunately, my emotion and argumentative nature got the best of me and I didn’t stick to my well scripted plan.

It all unfolded when the LT told me that the soldier who happens to agree with me was in fact “indifferent” and didn’t have any supporting disposition. This was completely untrue as I was very aware of SGT Oscar’s stance on the issue.

“Actually, Sir, I know the soldier in question you are referring to is SGT Oscar, and I also know that his position is in no way indifferent.”

The hands cease movement and a puzzled look of surprise forms itself.

“SGT Rolligun! Are you saying that I am intentionally painting a picture to support my case?”

(Well yea, using hands to create a message through analogies and generalizations is what painters do, whether it’s an accurate picture or an abstract)

“Yes Sir, I am”

That concluded that conversation as my Platoon Leader walked away without anything further.

About an hour later…

“SGT Rolligun, LT wants to see you in his office.”

“Fine”

Moments later I am receiving a “counseling statement,” only this time I am standing at the position of attention. At his request.
His major premise was that I questioned his integrity as an officer and that is unacceptable from a non-commissioned officer, that being me. He’s right about the latter but as for the former, I did no such thing! I was asked for my opinion of an indirect question. I can’t help that he hid his intentions behind some implied meaning. What the hell is that?

So now I have another counseling statement and included as a punishment is an assignment to write a 1000 word essay on various subjects of Army doctrine. As far as I am concerned a counseling statement is the same as getting your name written on the board. My first grade teacher use to exaggerate that bullshit as well!

~Rolligun