Scratch

Our jump tonight was scratched. We had an hour and a half drive out to Victorville's airport to be told the winds were too high. But we all knew that already. Our contingency plan was to fly in on helicopters to our objective, but somewhere someone dropped the ball and we didn't go out tonight. Am I complaining? Hell no! We'll likely try the training event again tomorrow (tonight?), but it's shortened our time from three days in the blistering heat to two...unless they just push the whole timeline to the left. Which I don't think we have the resources to do, but I wouldn't be surprised if we were out for 3 days.

I'm exhausted.

Glad to have a cot to sleep on for the night rather than the ground, intermittently, about every other hour.

I can't remember if I allow comments from strangers on this thing.

I guess the kick I needed to get me writing again was to put me in the middle of nowhere.

There's a kid I work with (I say kid, he's 20) who I strongly dislike and would like to punch in the face. Repeatedly. While it's difficult to describe this kid and the reasons why he's punchable, an example of his irritating demeanor is that he drinks a beer and a shot of gin, then transforms into an emo prick alternate personality then talks about hurting himself or making inappropriate comments about peoples' dead siblings. I hate that crap. There are some things I don't need in my life. One of which is having to take care of some spineless prick who never learned how to interact with any sort of human beings then pushes away the people who extend a friendly hand by turning in to a comic book villain when he drinks. Crazy people.

That's all for now.

Training and the Like

So sometime tomorrow I leave for a three day outing to be sleep deprived and under-fed. Should be fun. Lights out at 3am, so I'll be up again. Might write some. I finished American Gods and I've been mulling it over in my mind. I recommend it. Anyway, with all that business done, I'll need to occupy my time. I didn't bring another book and everyone else seems to be entertaining themselves with some other form of media.

I snagged a box of brownies that I've been gorging on. They're pretty rich, so I may not finish them all by the time we leave tomorrow. I should have help, though.

My ruck sack is pretty fucking heavy. The price you pay for being in charge of all the radio equipment, I suppose. I don't mind too much for the quick outings, but when we'll have to walk about 15 miles (rumored) through the soft desert sand with nearly 70lbs on your back, you get a little irritated.

I need an outlet. Not electrically speaking. Just something to relieve stress. I have a membership for a massage place, which helps, but it's a once a month thing. And I haven't gone in a couple months. I used to go shooting, but I don't have a firearm in Washington (or at least not one I can use whenever I want) and without the right people around, it loses its comforting capabilities.

I get to see my folks for the 4th of July. That'll be nice. I'll meet them in Portland along with a close family friend who lives in the area. Not sure what we're doing,  but seeing them will be a welcome change of pace. And hey, no sales tax in Oregon, so that's always a plus.

When I get back to Washington I may go for a long drive. Not sure where. Just some place to go. Someplace new. Maybe Canada. Haven't been up there since I was 3 or 4, so I don't really count it as a visit. The only thing I can recall was getting a happy meal with a camera in it. It was a neon green, single-use camera. Thinking about it now, that's probably one of the coolest happy meals a kid could get.

Anyway, we'd driven up, my parents, brother, and I, back when the folks were still together. I looked up to see a flock of birds. Couldn't tell you what they were, but it may have been the first time I'd seen them flying in a "V." Or at least the first time it ever intrigued me. I turned my camera skyward, clearly not knowing at age 3/4 with a disposable camera the only thing that would develop on the film would be a blue sky with, at best, a few specks on it. But hey, let a kid have his hopes and dreams and imagination, right? Wrong. What I got instead was my dad practically screaming at me for wasting film and a sad Andy. Then, perhaps for the first time, I wished I was those birds, flying in that "V," if only to escape the over-reacting, overly angry paternal figure that chose to hammer in the point for god knows how long that you don't take pictures of birds up in the sky with a disposable camera that you got in a happy meal. Fuck your childhood and your imagination. Just get in the car and look at Canada.

Fuck you Dad. For everything.

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.

Back in Business

So until Sam gets back on the B13, I'm switching back to old reliable.  Don't want to hog it all to myself. That being said, I've got a training in California coming up on Monday. While I'll be back the weekend before America Day, I doubt I'll update throughout my duration there. I do intend to post a little something-something before the weekend is up, so hey, look out for that.