I’m having a bit of trouble standing at ease since I’ve gotten home for my summer break. Although I’m free to do as I please at home until the 4th of August, it is BECAUSE I have until the 4th of August that I can not stand easy.

When I am engaged in any sort of activity that requires a majority of my brain function I am generally at ease since my mind is not able to dedicate through processes to the idea of returning to 2nd battalion and my uncomfortable bunk. But for any moment where I am free to think the subconscious is fixated on being a soldier and, therefore, I constantly have that edge on me that is the same as when wearing the uniform. Although I may have an eased posture, I am in uniform and can therefore be tasked. Therefore, one can never be entirely at ease.

Example… I found myself today in the garage cleaning my personal weapons immaculately as if I were in the gun cage back in Shilo. Although I take a certain pleasure in maintaining my personal weapons, this time seemed so cold, programmed and robotic. I then received a social call from a friend I haven’t seen in several months and instead of heading out the door to go do something with him I invited him over to help me clean my weapons bench, organize mixed brass, help set up my press for .40 cal combat loads and then had him help make 100 rounds of .40 S&W. Although I’m sure he enjoyed learning about this stuff as he likes guns as much as I do. To me I had just defaulted to an activity that was composed entirely of the elements that make up the depressive battalion life style I had been living in for the past 5 months solid instead of just head over to his place to hang out, play videogames and guitar as I normally would.

This isn’t so much a complaint or vent as it is an observation of this strange ‘crack’ in my psyche. I find it interesting above all else.

I suppose it may take an alcoholic binge, the likes of which will result in severe alcohol poisoning, to completely purge the bitter rotten sour taste of Shilo out of my mouth. Sadly, in a month’s time I am doomed to return and take a big honking bite of that shit sandwich again.



…. Send booze!