On mission. Waiting to SP. Long night ahead. Chasing the Great White Whale as it were. Go officers. My Dad flew out today for Kuwait and I didn't get to talk to him due to our first mission hit time being pushed to the left. Fucking lame. Baby John's birthday was a few days ago. Year three I haven't been around for it. Fucking lame. I'm ready to come home.
I'm ready to see the boys again. I'm ready to maybe enjoy a beer or two. I'm ready to jump from skin to skin and run from this whole deployment. It's something to do I suppose. When the nerves are dead what's left to feel? An echo? A memory? A blood borne scream? Who knows? certainly not this guy.
So once again, not everyone will be home when I come home due to Death or deployment. And as it happens those that have died recently, I'd really, really, REALLY like to talk to. Make statements, ask questions, etc. Relate what my war was like. In general, the only person I really want to talk to about it all... Won't be home. Fuck.
So, it's off to mission number something hundred and just try to hold on for a another couple of weeks. And then...something. Nothing? Who knows? Yet another downside to coming home. But, that's a whole different story.
sleep tight. Sweet dreams, and all that jazz.
"Slowly the pen touches paper in the guidance of the words that you write.
Memories roll in; of the things you once did
and who you had shared them with is somebody thinking of you..."
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