The Exodus

16.5.10

...Just got Back...

...from a mission. More to come in the next few days.

- The Exodus

10.5.10

Today is my Birthday. I am 27 years old. The boys in the CET all signed a card. On the front are two kids playing basketball; one of them has a giant gold star on his shirt. It’s funny because whenever they do something good, I award them ‘Gold Stars’. Scuteri filled all of the radios so I pat him on the shoulder and say, “Good job, buddy, Gold Star!” And so on.

This is my second Birthday in Iraq. The first one, back in 2003, was spent stuck up on a wall getting twenty licks from a belt by my squad mates. This year, I was given comforting words from my Lieutenant about 30 being the new 20. And I think, “Oh, how Iraq has changed…” It’s a good thing too, I imagine, the idea of 27 lashings doesn’t sound very agreeable right about now.

The first Birthday I can remember, I was 8 or 9, maybe 7, I don’t know, and my school teacher was there. Mrs—or Miss or Ms or whatever—Covey something or other was her name. She deployed in the middle of the school year as an Army Reservist for the Iraq War: Part One. And I remember we all dressed up like Batman characters and stuff.

My favorite one—to date—was turning 23. Liezel, my South African angel, surprised me at midnight with champagne and sang in such a sweet voice and yada-yada-yada. It is debatable, my closest friends would argue, that this couldn’t possibly be my favorite. “After all,” they say, “What about the great times we’ve had? The trips to the Keys and island parties and block parties and keggers and such!” They go on, “And didn’t you have to bring her to the airport and send her home that same day?” Yes, I remember all the good times, and yes, she left that day too. Maybe my happy-o-meter is askew, or something, but it was my favorite.

I guess it’s expected I’d say, “Dude, when I turned 21 that was awesome! I got so f’ing messed up, man!” But that isn’t true. I turned 21 just a month or so after the first deployment; was happily married; and had yet to begin ‘self-medicating’. It only took six Long Island Iced Teas at dinner to make my night end throwing up in the shower. And if it weren’t for my poor wife, I probably would have drowned in that tub. So no, I imagine, 21 was not awesome or my favorite. Not by a long shot. 21 was stupid.

And what would I be doing right now if this deployment didn’t happen and I was spending the day back home? It would probably be a toss up between what I did last year verses the year before it. It is quite likely that I’d spend it alone at some beach bum bar, bare footed with my toes in the sand, while I sipped on a Margarita—on the rocks, no salt—and reading Vonnegut or something of the sort. But it is just as likely that I’d creep around in some hole-in-the-wall, trying to find some ‘patriotic civilian’ or old Vet who wants to buy the young hero a drink in exchange for a good war story—even though what they’d get from me is probably some watered-down, hippie-leftist, tree-hugging gibberish and such. But I can’t please everyone.

All that aside, Happy Birthday to me.

- The Exodus

8.5.10

...These Little Substitutions...

Three weeks in Kuwait has made me miss Iraq and the past few weeks I have found myself drinking far too much coffee, smoking more cigarettes than I should, and watching endless hours of TV broken up by video games. Missions have come to a halt due to armour refitting and I find myself trying to kill the time with things I usually don’t do back at home. My sleeping and eating schedule is beyond backwards due to trying to keep a sleeping pattern that mimics the ones on missions. Four AM fall asleep, two PM wake up, five PM eat, twelve AM eat…repeat. I write about this because I find it interesting how the routines I had at home have essentially just been replaced with different times and other ‘vices’.

In the comfort of my room back in Florida I find myself sipping on a Scotch as I edit photos and walk around the house to take a break when I’ve grown tired of staring at a screen. Smoking is non-existent habit for me unless I’m at a bar with some friends who enjoy cancer sticks and I’ll puff on a couple along with them, but here, it has changed. I can’t sip on a Scotch after hours of editing, or chase my dog around the house, or go into the fridge for some food to fill me up. So instead I smoke a cigarette or munch on chocolate or walk to other billets in hopes to find someone to smoke a cigarette with me or attempt to pick up my bible and try to not feel like a hypocrite. I’ve replaced an enjoyment with something to fill the mental hole of relaxation that I’ve created out of routine. Have I become addicted to smoking? No. It’s just a substitute for the time being. This deployment has become filled with many little substitutions.

I’m finally leaving for Baghdad again.

Oh…..and it’s Giunta’s Birthday. We are eating Ramen Noodles, scraps from MRE’s, and drinking a six back of near beer.

- The Exodus