When Writing Life?

I don’t really know how to do this, haven’t figured it all out yet. All I know is that sometimes a moment in the day will capture a thought, memory, or an observation and I will be motivated to write about it. Something that has to do with life. I haven’t had that happen in while. I think I’m missing some inspiration or something. But I’m actually interested in writing again so I’m just going to grind this out to the bitter end if I have too. I need something to write about. Thinking. Thinking. What about….uh, no...ahhh, not that either. I just miss that feeling you get when you write something that you actually like or even better that little bit of a thrill you have as you transfer thoughts to paper or so it goes. The best part is when your fingers seem to be moving faster than your mind. Then you go back and read the last couple of sentences and find yourself surprised with the direction you took. O.k. where going that way now. Here we go!

I’m hoping that I can get things going again by the fall or something when my world changes once again. I think I need a new scene. Right now I’m just stuck on the escalator, walking the wrong way. Coincidently enough, I use to do that in the mall as a little kid because I thought it was fun. Nobody else seemed to share my amusement. Anyway, I’m doing that again, only now it’s not any fun. Just going through the motions.

I think I’m looking for other kinds of answers these days. You get set in a frame of mind and if your content with that set of thoughts, then your able to let in more and more and more. But what happens if you lose sight of the originals or maybe you lose a part of them (your thoughts) and then it feels like your back at the near beginning again. So now you don’t let so much in anymore. At least I think that’s how it works for me. I suppose I can be somewhat methodical when comes to life. I need certain things in place and when those things are disorganized I am not as able to move on with the rest of it. This is what gives me that wrong way escalator feeling or “spinning your wheels” so to speak.

I’ve always admired the people who seem either extremely free or extremely ignorant. Either or. I think the benefits are the same. I’m not really that way, not as carefree or untroubled as I’d like to be. I have some inherent commitment of always being consumed by something. Always dwelling. The first time I ever heard that word “dwelling” was when my sister pointed that problem out to me at some young age. I don’t know if it was years of surveillance that lead her to that that assessment or maybe she also happened to learn the meaning of the word “Dwell” that day and found an opportunity to use it in a moment of spontaneity. Either way, I remember that comment that observation. (Excuse me while a take a moment to think about that…)

“Dwelling” has a ceiling to it, a limit to its meaning. You can only dwell on details. If it’s anything more important than the details, then it isn’t dwelling anymore. It gravitates beyond burdens to obsession to afflictions and so on. But it’s not that hard to get lost in life’s details either.

That parenthesis was suppose to be an easy joke a simple play on the word’s meaning, but it turned out to be a quick reality instead, which is why I shared my extended definition of the word.

The carefree or the ignorant -- they don’t do that. I like them for it.

This is getting odd, I think and I have to get back to the duality of my point. Do I even have any idea what my point is anymore?

It’s hard to write something if you don’t know what the point is. It’s harder to live if you don’t know what your point is. This is what you end up with… a paroxysmal series of uncollected thoughts and actions. Maybe that’s the problem…I need to find my point my original thought. One that I still have and take it from there. But that’s how things go. Sometimes you get it and sometimes you don’t. No problem there.

It’s all just a big cycle and you go with it when you can and you stand in the way when you can’t. I don’t think there is much point in following or going the other way, sometimes you just have to grind it out to the bitter end. You have to search for your point. You have to find your point. Develop it. Then find another one. And another. And you ride it until you lose it all again. That’s one of life’s certainties. Everything always comes and goes. You just have to keep finding it. Then you can live it then you can write it. I don’t really know how to do this, I just know I like it when when my fingers move faster than my mind and then you go back and read the last bit of life that has happened and find yourself surprised with the direction you took. And you like it.

O.k. where going that way now. Here we go!

~Rolligun


*I just learned of the word paroxysmal today and found an opportunity to use it. It's not like I come complete with a working knowledge of rare and pecuiler looking words.

Finding a means to a loss

Is there ever a certain person that you think about whenever you want to forget about someone else? I have a girl like that. I was thinking back about some of the girls I’ve either dated or strongly desired and how while sometimes it was probably a good thing that the attraction or the relationship ended; there were other times where I wished it hadn’t.

Whoops, I may have fucked that one up.

Every now and then you meet someone and relish in the stages of infatuation. Your mind and your body just seem to change chemical structure and you run wild the fantastic possibilities of being or always being with that person. Sometimes those possibilities become the reality and an extraordinary romance evolves. Or maybe sometimes your illusions get ahead of the reality. Or simply, it’s just time for the relationship to end.

There have been a couple of girls in my life where my hopes and expectations exceeded theirs. Hmm. Which of course spell’s the end of that affair. That’s alright though and everything eventually comes back to zero again, but in the mean time all you have is disappointment and this consuming sense of loss.

I didn’t want to deal with anything like that while overseas. Having a relationship or ending a relationship or anything of that nature. Even though my impending deployment wasn’t the major reason my last girlfriend and I broke up, it was however, one of the things I was considering. So many soldiers I serve with had rushed into marriages and commitments as a result being deployed. I guess that’s one way to handle the situation, to find someone to hold on too. Still others, (myself included) would do the opposite, which is to detach from that kind of thing.

I didn’t have a particularly hard time getting over the last girlfriend. Jessica was a great girl, who I’m sure is doing quite well, however we were just too different. I didn’t want to be with her anymore, especially while being gone. The transition was smooth and I didn’t need any help in getting over her. It was simply time for our relationship to end. But it’s not always that easy.

I can remember a few girls that gave me absolute fits when trying to get over them. Relationships where my desires were either stronger than theirs or had outlived theirs. Not all were actual girlfriends, one for example, was just a girl I grew up knowing (a year older) through Middle and High School. We weren’t even that close and I didn’t get that many chances to talk to her, but I knew she always liked having such devoted admirer. Anyway, she had my affections for several years. So there is a varying range of history & closeness between me and the girl who happened to evoke that sense of loss.

Coincidently enough, the girl who ended my affections for the older girl, is still today, the same one that I think about when I need help in getting over the loss of someone else. I haven’t talked to her for a few years and I think she married recently. She was my first real girlfriend and long term relationship. If I had ever loved anyone, it was her.

We dated for about a year and it took twice that time for me to get over her. Everyday of elation equaled two days of loss. Not a fair equation as far as I’m concerned and one that I don’t forget. Anyhow, the gift she did leave me is the ability for her to sometimes help with getting over the overwhelming feelings I had for another. If I could handle two for one, then I could handle this.

So for whatever the reasons were that things didn’t continue or evolve with the few that I had lost, I would always eventually start to think about Amy. I would remember how we spent 13 months together and had never fought once, about anything. Ever. I would remember how every time I tried to be serious or assertive; she would just step right over my stoic bearing in a way that would change all perspectives. If I was mad or upset about something, she would just bypass that too, also in way that defeated whatever importance I applied to the situation. She made me laugh, all the time and especially at myself. She could pick up and set down my ego whenever she wanted while always being able to make me happier than I could imagine. I did those same things for her. (except for picking up and setting down of an ego, she was better at that). I would remember, just simply, how much fun it was to be with her, in a car ride, or a walk, or anything. But mostly I remember how I never once felt, that any moment with her was less than perfect. Never wanted to be anyplace else. I can’t forget about the two days of loss for every day of her, but she has always been able to help me get over the loss of someone else. Eventually.

That usually works for me, so how do you do it?

~Rolligun

Back to School

I took the GMAT in Kuwait City in early May This was right before I left for R&R. For those of you who don't know what that test is, it's the test you take to apply to graduate schools for business. Anyway, I spent almost two months studying for it whenever I could find the time in between all the other things. I did extremely well on one part of the test, but I didn't do as well as I hoped on the overall part of it. Whatever. I was a little frustrated by that becasue I'm usually a decent test taker and my practice tests were going well. So I'm not sure what happened. Naturally, my quick answer is that this was the result of an unexplainable mystery through no fault of my own. You know the stars the planets and all that. I could retake it when I get back to the states and have a more agreable schedule to prepare, but I don't think I'm going to. This was a one shot one kill kind of endeavor and besides, I either met or exceeded the average test score of the four schools I was looking at. So maybe it was just my ego that was damaged.

That part of the process is out of the way and I've sinced started moving on to the actual part where you apply. I need to figure this out quickly because it's a major factor in deciding where I want to live when I get back. It's kind of an exhausting process. There's the test itself, the application, the letters of recommendation, transcripts, essays, and apparently, interviews! I'm surpirsed I don't need a security clearence, a physical and be required to pass some sort of medival endurance gauntlet. Anyway this is what I'm working on at the moment, trying to get these applications out before I de-mob (go home).

Oh yeah, I rejoin my unit on the tenth of July. The mission I'm on now will handed over to a new company very soon and and my old unit is set go home, also within the near future. I've been gone for about 12 months total at this point and I really don't have very much time left. I think a change of scenery is going to be good.

The four schools I was looking at were in Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Chicago and Denver. I'm from Milwuakee but I was really planning on not living there when I get back. Minneapolis and Chicago were kind of the front runners and I was getting pretty interested in the idea of moving to either of those places. But I think I may stay in Milwuakee. My reasoning for this is that, as a veteren and a resident, I will get free tuition at any of the state schools. That's a pretty big deal. That would save me $30,000 in student loans so I think it would be pretty stupid to not stay. The school in Chicago (Depaul) would probably be my first choice overall, but it's even more expensive than Milwaukee and plus I would have to pay for it all. So I think I'm going to stay in Milwaukee for four years (doing the part time thing). Then I'll move on. Still, I don't know how I feel about this.

In other news, my ear did in fact start to heal on it's own. I've been to the Army med clinic twice since I've been back and have also had an audiogram. I do have some hearing loss and supposeldy my left ear will get to call the shots from now on (my right was the dominent one) but I think the hearing loss is going to be minimal. So no big deal.

Any volunteers to edit an essay or two?

~Rolligun

Untitled

Last night was one the worst I've seen. We received what is believed to be the two kidnapped soldiers. In the sixth months I've been with this unit and the over two hundred soldiers I've personally helped send home, this is the first time that I almost threw up.

I don't even know what to say. If I did, I couldn't post it.

So I might be done with the military posting from now on.

I think I want to start doing the fuzzy posting thing.

~Rolligun

Remembrance Pieces

The Army has its own paper that gets distributed through out the theatre. It’s called the Stars & Stripes. Most of the articles are syndicated just the same as many news publications. I’ll usually read an AP article online before I see it again in the Stars and Stripes. Just like any good publication, the Stars & Stripes will take into account their audience, so there are also plenty of articles written about issues that are important to the military. Articles about policy changes, new equipment, political speeches, institutional rhetoric, and of course some stories from the war that weren’t quite exciting enough for the associated press. I’m leaving something out. What kind of periodical would the Stars & Stripes be if it didn’t have human interest stories? There are different kinds of human interest stories, the Stars & Stripes usually covers all the bases, but the ones I’m referring too are the ones that highlight the life of a recently deceased soldier. Remembrance Pieces. I think it’s a good thing to reflect on these soldiers and for others to read about them. These articles usually follow the same format. I always know the names.

They talk about the impressions that soldier left behind.

They talk about the interests that soldier left behind.

They talk about the family that soldier left behind.

They talk about how that solider moved on.

Remembrance.

The format is usually pretty typical but the content is personal. It’s specific to the soldier. The last one I read the soldier was described as committed and courages. Qualities he undoubtedly possessed, but he also came off as bit awkward. In a simple and amiable sort of way. It talked about him not having a girlfriend and how he and a close female friend of his would always talk about that. I’m not sure if that’s something I would necessarily want in an article like that, but it’s sincere nonetheless. It doesn’t much matter anyway. The article talked about a particular tattoo he had on his shoulder. He was described as being proud of that tattoo and had identified himself with it. It was a tattoo of the superman symbol.

I don’t always read the Stars & Stripes, but when I do, I always read these stories.

I remember looking at his tattoo.

~Rolligun

This is the End of Australia

This has been a ridiculous post. I'm not going to completely finish the whole thing. This is just the rest of it. If you want to comment, but you don't want to devote the time, feel free to pick out a random sentence or two and comment on that. I'm o.k. with it.

So anyway, I spent the rest of my time walking around the deck, reading, and building a comfortable lead with my bar tab over the rest of the guests. I hung out with the two Polish guys, an Australian Police officer, (who had a lizard that bit her from time to time) and the captain of the ship, who was appropriately named “Bob.” I met Bob the first night while hanging out with the Polish guys at the front of the ship. The Polish guys were smokers and that was the only part of the boat were you were allowed asphyxiate yourself, so that’s where we were. Bob, our captain, came over and introduced himself. He then promptly sat down to begin the choking process. Bob was a platoon sergeant in Vietnam for the Australian Army. I don’t remember how exactly the conversation unfolded but within several sentences of Bob’s arrival we each determined that we were both military veterans. Up until now, the Polish guys didn't didn’t know that I was in the Army and that I was enjoying a temporary exile from the desert. Bob and I exchanged stories (his were much more interesting than mine) and to my surprise the Polish guys asked very few questions. They just listened (which is what I wish they would have done during the classes). Bob finished several cigarettes and invited me to meet him the following morning up at the part of the boat where the captain stands in front of a large wooden wheel. The wooden wheel is for changing directions. The next morning I skipped breakfast, grabbed some coffee and continued talking to Bob in his part of the boat. We talked about war and he let me stand in front of the wooden wheel.

Back to my broken ear. After the Reef trip I went to a 24 hour medical center the following morning. I hastily filled out some paper work and sat down in the lobby for about an hour and a half. There were other things I rather would have done. In the mean time I read various magazines that clued me in to the latest dating gossip and movie news from Hollywood. It was also in this office that I determined that Aborigine’s have some of the most flexible looking joints I have ever seen. In some cases it looks like their arms are in fact bending backwards. Eventually my name was called and I ambled my way into the doctor’s office. The longest part of the diagnosis took place in the beginning. It was the part where the doctor was trying to decipher what code of characters I had used to communicate with on the paper work. We dedicated the next ten minutes or so to redoing the paperwork on the account of my sloppy right hand. I found this both funny and typical but I don’t think the doctor was as amused as I was. In any case the doctor started poking various tools into my ear before finally declaring that I have a very large hole in my ear and will in fact need surgery. “You need surgery, you going to have to see a specialist.” Oh. “Did you go into the water after you did this” “Yes, I started too but…” I never actually finished that sentence. It wasn’t necessary for me to do so as the doctor gave me the kind of look you would give someone who just dropped a baby. She then quickly resumed jotting down medical words. She prescribed me an anti-biotic and told me that I need to see an ear specialist as soon as I got back. O.k I didn’t believe her, as far as surgery goes, so I did my own research and have since determined that I will in fact heal myself (common with most ear perforations depending on size of rupture). I’ve also seen an Army doctor since I’ve been back but that was by no means a productive visit. He too, was not an ear specialist nor was he able to answer any of my questions. His advice was to wait. Thanks doc. In any case I spent the rest of my trip saying the word “what?” (I still hear very little out of my right ear) Later that night I met the Australian Police officer and the two Polish guys for drinks. I felt more like I was watching them on television than being physically there, on the account of my ear. It wouldn’t be until I actually left Australia that I started getting use to the detached feeling my broken ear gave me.

My options were now limited seeing as though all water activities were no longer recommended so I booked a one day rainforest trip. This would be the only other activity sort of thing I would do. The trip included a walk through park, a boat ride on the Daintree River and a trip to the Heritage Rainforest (a zoo). The walkthrough part of the trip was mainly devoted to looking at plant life. I don’t find this particularly exciting but I was determined to enjoy myself and take pictures. Also, our tour guide had some fixation on the sugar cane business. It started with scattered comments about the industry here and there. Pretty much whenever we saw a field or a farmer. The surprise he had for us was an ad hoc trip to the sugar cane mill itself. The mill just happened to be on the way to something or other and the tour guide couldn’t resist the opportunity to dart in there and share more of the sugar cane mystery with us. I started laughing by myself on this one. This had nothing to do with the trip and I couldn't have cared less about it. The brochure that lured me into this venture certainly didn't speak of it.This is pretty much were I’m going to stop. There isn’t much else to say. I made my way back to Sydney where I just socialized for a couple of days before heading back to the desert. Overall, I had an excellent time in Australia. There so much to do and I would really like to go back!

I doubt that I ever will.

~Rolligun

Sometimes it's the things that didn't happen that you remember most.

Pictures Again

Australia part II

So now I’m in Cairns, Queensland and I have nothing planned but I have some ideas of what I want to do. All of that will wait for the following day. It’s time to check out the night life in Cairns. I was disappointed with my bar selections in Sydney so I was pretty excited to see so many cool bars in one little area. It remind me of me of my college town, which once held the proud bragging rights of holding the world record for the most amount of bars on one street. That’s right on any given weekend you could find over two thousand drunk and energetic student stumblers’s on the same street. What an environment to foster an education! Anyway, I was more than delighted at the scene Cairns presented. My first night out I’m bouncing bars by myself before I settle on a place that had an upper deck, outside, and was playing music videos. I was already a bit distracted with random thoughts as well as continuously moving around so I welcomed the opportunity to just sit outside and drink while watching music videos. The upper deck was busy but I did find a random seat with good viewing distance which I set my eyes on. Across from that seat was a cute yet eccentric looking girl. That’s interesting. She smiled as I thought about sitting down and she smiled again as I made up my mind. So naturally the first thing I do is start talking to the Asian couple on my left. I have very little interest in hearing what they have to say and I’m sure they felt the same about my contributions. I’m stalling. Eventually a conversation starts between me and the cute yet eccentric looking girl across from me. I’m not sure if we ever exchanged names but I do remember how difficult it was to determine where she came from. Once our conversation started I quickly defaulted to the brand of conversation you would expect from a class reunion…

Rolligun Class of ’97: ”How long have you been here?”

Rolligun w/o nametag: “What have you been doing?”

Rolligun Voted most likely to ask questions: “Where are you from?”

And that was the question right there! That was the question that let the cat out of the bag and opened the door to all things weird.

Eccentric Girl delighted with the depths of the question: “In this life or my last life?”

Rolligun smiling with anticipation: “Let’s start with your first life”

This was most definitely an interesting conversation as I learned about her sixth and seventh senses, her uncommitted marriage to a guy traveling around China, and her explanations of concepts such as free will, fortitude and sacrifice. As interesting as it was talking to her, it was also quite exhausting because the simplest things (or so I thought) would turn into another expansive discussion. It was like taking test and every question was either long division or essay. That’s best I can do to explain it. Maybe I just wasn’t deep enough to keep up with her, although I did hang in there for over two hours. The more we talked the more I also began to notice how her physical characteristics began to compliment her unusual beleifs. For example, her neck was bit longer than standard and stood very erect. Similar to that of a person who recovered from a car accident (or perhaps she was once a leaf eating animal in the savannah). Her eyes were sharp and extremely open (I had already asked her if she took ecstasy earlier and she hadn’t). Now I’m a mildly eccentric person myself, but she was definitely winning as I was getting a little freaked out by her. I began imagining her placing a curse on me…just because she could. I had to wrap this up and head back. I had long walk and I wanted to wake up early and plan some adventures. Anyway, she might have been from Czech Republic.

Some thirty-two hours later I was bungee jumping in the Rainforest. What’s up A.J. Hacket the father of Bungee? The platform was a large arch 44m in height and nestled comfortably in the valley of lot’s of trees. It looked like a mini-version of the St. Louis Arch. I got picked up in the morning by a little van that had the letters A – J in large bold fonts all over the place. If nothing else it was easy to recognize that that was my ride. Most thoughtful really. I had planned on spending the whole day out there as I knew one jump would not be enough. So I purchased the super-combo-unlimited package (something like that). This dazzling arrangement of promotions came with all sorts of conveniences and extras but there was only one thing I was concerned with. Unlimited jumps. That’s all that’s important. I’ve been sky diving before, but had never done bungee. As far as I’m concerned it’s a pretty simple process with little opportunity for confusion. I had wished the jump was a little higher (New Zealand has one that’s 125M!!!) but there is one important factor between bungee and sky diving. That factor is point of reference, a visual. When sky diving you’ll hit speeds of say 140 mph or so but there isn’t any physical comparison and it feels more as if you’re floating. With bungee you have the rocks, the trees, and the ground all rushing through your eyeballs in a flood of visual stimulation and all in a matter of seconds. It’s a hell of a time! For an extra fifteen dollars I was able to go up a couple of meters higher, have the bungee attached to my chest and run off the roof. I recommend that. I also met a couple of Irish dudes who were heading out to a Irish bar for happy hour and to catch some sort of game (unfamiliar to me) on the large televisions. I hadn’t planned on doing anything that night on the account of several continuous nights of drinking and the fact I would be starting my dive course the following day. But I figured the hell with it. I’ll meet these blokes for a few early beers and call it a night nice and early. That’s a fine idea.

I get back to my hostel and change into some comfortable but scrubby looking clothes and journey back into town at about 1900 hours. I met my two Irish friends at the Irish bar where they were hanging out with the rest of their, ahh, Irish Rugby team. Oh, this is interesting. I thought I was meeting two dudes from bungee for a couple of drinks but in fact I showed up for a little more than that. I end up shaking about fifteen different hands and explaining the brief history of me, many times over. After the compound greetings and jovial exchanges I found myself continually supplied with free beer from my new mates, the Irish Rugby team. I still have all intentions of heading out early as I have eight hours of classroom stuff starting at 0730, for the dive course. On the other hand, I’m hanging out with a fun crowd that takes pride in drinking and behaving in loud volumes. I’m not necessarily a loud person myself, I’m more kind of chill, but I am from Wisconsin, which as far as I’m concerned is the Ireland of the United States, for drinking purposes. They were also the most supportive group of people I’d come across yet, considering the Army and all. (Mostly I’d been trying to keep that to myself, unsuccessfully). Several hours later and god knows how many drinks, I finally separate myself from the group. Not an easy task. By this time it’s a blurry 0130. I had planned on being back by 2100. Either way I begin the staggering marathon back to my hostel. Do remember this is a 30 minute walk given normal conditions. More often than not I like drunk walking. Its night time it’s peaceful and I can let my saturated mind wander. The down side is that I will become completely oblivious as to where I’m going. This time is no different. The sky is full of stars (for some reason Kuwait rarely has visible stars), the air is comfortable and I’m content. Left foot right foot my limbs are placed on auto pilot. Some fifty minutes later I’m still walking in the same direction. Huh. It’s now very apparent to me that I’ve passed my turn so I head back in the other direction for fifteen minutes or so and I still don’t recognize my turn so I head back again in another direction. This is when walking is no longer fun. I’ve determined that I have no fucking clue where I’m going and my blissful thoughts are now being replaced by aggravated concentration. Where the hell is my street? What is the name of my Street? Shit. By nearly 0300 I finally find the hostel, which to my surprise is locked up by an unfamiliar gate. Where the hell did this gate come from? So now I’m left to create my own obstacle course of jumping, climbing and crawling to get into this inaccessible fortress (tearing my colored T-shirt in the process) and finally completing my stagger into bed. This is the night I decide to change hostels. Five hours later I will be sitting in a classroom supporting my right eyelid with two fingers and an elbow.

I don’t have much to say about the next couple of days except for the fact that I was grossly unprepared to remain seated for eight hours at a time. At least the second day had a bunch of pool exercises. My classmates included a Scottish girl and two Polish guys. The Scottish girl had some sort of peninsula shaped blemish on her chin. She was cute but self-conscious about her piece of geography. The Polish guys were extremely nice and were in constant competition with each other for who could ask the most amount of questions at one time with out receiving an answer. Also, there was an American who could not decide on a single posture and kept poking himself in the eye with two fingers.

The big thing I planned for this holliday was my scuba diving trip in the Great Barrier Reef. I had never done scuba before and I didn’t want to have someone hold my hand the whole time so I decided to book a trip that would allow me to get certified before I spend a couple of nights out on the reef. That was a long sentence. The only down side of this venture was that it was a five day commitment and wouldn’t leave me enough time to check out Byron Bay, for a little surf and a little party. In any case I decided it would be a worthy sacrifice for one of the world’s seven wonders! After we completed the two days of classroom stuff we headed out for three days and two nights on the boat. The Scottish girl who I had drinks with the night earlier got sick on the way to the Reef so she decided to end the certification process and not transfer boats. The Polish guys were still nice and still inquisitive. We completed our certification after the first four dives and the rest of the trip would be reserved for diving on your own. However, I never made it that far. In all of my self-appointed glory I managed to perforate my ear doing a back flip with a little too much spin off the front of the boat. I’ve done plenty of stupid things in my day and anticipated zero threat with this endeavor but one way or another I hit the water wrong (with side of my head) and ruptured my eardrum. I seriously have more control of my body than this freak performance. A couple of hours later (after the ringing subsided) I tried to dive again but my ear was met with sharp stinging pains only a couple of meters down so I abandoned the dive. I kept thinking about trying the next dive or the dive after that but my ear kept bleeding and kept serving no functional purpose whatsoever. Needless to say that event ended all water activities. No surfing, no whitewater rafting, and no more diving. That sucked and was one of only two downers for the whole trip. But things could have been worse.

(will finish with the blathering details tomorrow)

~Rolligun

mOrE aUsSiE pHoToS

433

Get woken up at 0350.

"SGT, we got three coming - - fifteen minutes out"

Three come in followed by two more an hour and a half later.

That makes five total. No time for breakfast this morning. (Not a problem)

All I.E.D. All sepearted.

433 is the number of Soldiers we sent home since the new year (from my camp).

Saw another picture of a child.

In other news...Al Zarqawi was killed himself.

This is a guy that would have sawed my head off given the chance.

Take care Al Zarqawi.

The pictures I saw of him were in better shape than the guys I saw this morning.

433 is the number of soldiers we sent home this year.

~Rolligun

Australia

Rest & Relaxation…

Travel to Air Force camp at 0700 – Get Dropped off in front of large white tent – Wrong white tent – Look for another white tent (there all over the fucking place) – Enter next white tent and congratulate self on accomplishment – Sit down and wait 75 minutes to begin a life changing and exhilarating Army Briefing – Quickly redefine life based on contents of the briefing and proceed to follow the herd – Enter next white tent and verify important pieces of information such as name, social security number and favorite color – Follow arrow to next tent - Herd is separated into two groups, one for slaughter and one for breeding or maybe it was one for stateside travelers and one for international travelers – Change out of uniform and into civilian clothes (for security on international flights) - Rejoin the breeders or rather the group for international travelers – Wait in line – Think about Australia – Still waiting – Enter mindless waiting in line banter – Waiting becomes harder – Get to front of line to receive flight plan and tickets – Before I get my flight plan I’m told I have to change my shirt (wearing plain white T-shirt) – “Sir, why do I have change my shirt?” “Because it’s CFLCC (SEE-Flick) policy, SEARRRGENT, and the Army wants to portray a professional appearance” “But I’m not suppose to look like I’m in the Army and I think this shirt is professional” “SEARGENT!! You’ll change your shirt if you want to leave” (Bite tongue and blink) “Just curious, thanks for the explanation” (blink) – Wait for transportation to another camp – Wait at “another camp” – Wait for transportation to Kuwaiti airport – Wait for flight - - - Board flight.

First Stop Dubai International Airport, United Arab Emirates. I take my seat in the exact middle of the plane. On my left is a very large and very old Pakistani, he smells like a plant. On my right is either a very curious Egyptian or an Egyptian with a dysfunctional eye condition that repeatedly slants left. Either way, the flight is approximately 110 minutes and words spoken by me is approximately four. That’s one word every 27 ½ minutes. Not bad. (Egyptian eye slants are approximately one every six minutes.)

Touchdown Dubai.

(Dubai 6 Sydney 0)

I reach Dubai at approximately 0100. I have a twelve hour layover but fortunately for me and my colored T-shirt, I have a hotel room waiting. By 0230 I’m in my room. By 0236 I’m downstairs having my first beer in ten months. I purchase the alcohol by way of Visa at the tune of 18 dhs per beer (dhs = U.A.E Currency). I have no idea how many dhs equal a dollar but I quickly determine the answer to be inconsequential. “Yes, I’ll have another. 18 more dhs you say, no problem, Visa will take care of it” I read, I jot mental notes, and I think about the changes my life is bound to take on the account of so many briefings. Satisfied with the amount dhs’s that I’ve either spent, given, or traded, I retire to my room and into the shower. I take a very long shower.

Wake up and Back to Dubai International Airport. I wander the airport and as I wait for my flight and I begin to get the impression that I’m not actually a human creature but in fact a fugitive zoo animal, or so my impression goes. In any case I board my flight and prepare for non-stop to Sydney! (My seat is a comfortable window location next to only one person, who easily passes for an acceptable travel mate. He quickly wins me over with simply a nod and by ordering a cocktail on the first pass of the stewardess.)

I reached Sydney at 0515 however the biological time is 2215. I catch a shuttle to my hostel on Pitt Street where I meet, who would eventually become, my gay friend Andy. He’s from Leeds (U.K). Now I didn’t know Andy was gay nor would I care one way or another, but for the first two days I knew him, he was simply Andy, my British friend who I would partner up with (Shud’up) and meet some girls. Eventually, he made his declaration to me and he became Andy, my British friend who I would just drink a beer with. I found this funny, but he was hesitant to disclose his preferences to me on the account of my being in the Army. In any case his moment of truth wasn’t worth me delaying my next round, so on it was to new subjects.

I didn’t stay in Sydney very long, just a few days before I booked a flight and headed to Queensland. The weather was shit and I was wasting too much time sleeping, drinking and hanging out with a gay guy. I did manage to do quite a lot of walking, and to check out the harbor as well as a couple of museums before I left. I flew straight to Cairns and made plans to stay at a pretty nice hostel, although it was a 30 minute walk from the center of town. I don’t mind walking, in fact I enjoy it very much, however I didn’t consider the impact alcohol has on my sense of direction. This would become a problem later on down the road.

(Will continue Tommorrow...)

AuSsIE pHoToS