California

I'm sitting here in a single-room building at Fort Irwin, CA where I've been for the past week and will remain for one more. Typing away on my phone, hoping my thumbs stay true and don't horribly butcher most of the words I write, I observe the room filled with cots, dirty, old, bent, faded olive drab cots. There's room for about 200, though only a fraction currently occupy the space. It smells of stale farts and body odor. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't a contributor to that smell.

The clock strikes 11:11 and I make a wish. Holding on to those childhood beliefs and superstitions, yearning for the day the wheel of fortune lands on my lot and all those fantasies become reality.

Over the last week I've powered through Neil Gaiman's American Gods as best I could. I've only about 100 pages left. One of the commentaries in the novel is media worship, and howthe beliefs of our ancestors are being forgotten and replaced. A cycle that of course is destined to happen. The replacement with technology is something disconcerting. That we give our time and ourselves to a sort of emptiness. Ironic of course that I write this on electronic media.

I look around this room and see many of its inhabitants on an electronic device. So many people. So few socializing in a human environment.

We've been on a reverse schedule. Sleeping in the day, working at night. If there were ever an equivalent to a vampire in the real world, we'd be it. We thrive in the darkness while light only betrays us and shows the world that we aren't the monsters that take you away in the night. We're just men. Flesh. Blood. Determination...though we would take you away in the with the sun up if we wanted to.

We've been told that lights out is 6am. Now I'm looking for things to occupy my time. Writing, for instance. Talking to my friends/co-workers/brothers. Maintaining my equipment. Finishing my damn book.

People don't write blogs anymore. Instead they write a caption. A thought. Post a picture. Copy and paste someone else's captions and thoughts and photos. When did we become so distracted as to lose interest in the expounding of a thought?

I'm scatterbrained tonight. I keep thinking about writing about a recurring complaint/problem that I have and is a source of constant frustration, but I can't overcome the feeling that writing about my problems is a cheap ploy to gain attention and start a pity party. And nobody likes a pity party.

Sorry I don't post enough. Hopefully this will suffice. For now.