Pay your respects bitches

The hardest part about being here is knowing that things are happening back home and there is nothing you can do about it. When you leave you imagine your life gets paused and everyone is waiting right where you left them, but I think we all know that's not the case. Life, your life as you knew it, is still happening. People move, get different jobs, personalities change, babies are born, people die. You come back expecting to pick up where you left off, but you're the only one who hasn't moved on. You open the cupboard and can't figure out why the fuck the cereal isn't where you left it. We have a hard time re-adjusting because while we're here we maintain this idealized memory of home. We build up home to be this paradise where nothing bad ever happens and problems don't exist. So when we get back and the bills are overdue, and the roof leaks, and life isn't perfect... we crash pretty hard. Same thing happens when we get bad news from home.
While I'm here I'm fully prepared to get the news that another soldier has died. It's expected and it happens. What I'm not prepared for is when someone dies at home. Home is safe, and normal, and God-dammit that shit is supposed to be on motherfucking pause. Today I found out that one of my roommates and good friends from college is not going to be there when I get back. The shower is the only place in my entire world where I have any privacy, so that's where I cried today. Dan,we're all going to miss you more than you could know. I hope you found what you were looking for. RIP man.

#1 Medium Fade. NO skin.

One would think that if all a guy did all day long was cut hair, then that guy might be able to at least give a decent haircut. I'd like to believe that if I had a few months of haircutting experience under my belt that I would be able to cut someone's hair without that person wanting to stab me to death with a comb afterward. However, the guys here at the barbershop seem to have been recruited less for their hairstyling skills than for their learning disabilities. Yesterday I got a haircut and my head was so fucked up that it looked like a twisted up Rubik's Cube. If I wanted a shitty haircut I would either A) Do it myself for free, or B) Tell them to buzz it all off and save myself 10 minutes. I don't really care what my hair looks like. I'm not trying to sex anybody out here. It's the principle of the thing. There's principalities involved. If I pay a "professional" barber for a haircut, I expect a certain level of quality in return. Granted $4.50 does not buy you a high level of quality, but I feel that what I'm getting is not commensurate with what I'm paying for. I wish I could call the Better Business Bureau, but I think their office got blown up last month.

Cancel Christmas

I don't know if it's more quiet here lately or if they're turning up the loudspeakers at the mosques. I hadn't heard the call to prayer since I had been here and then I heard it loud and clear on Christmas Eve of all days. I can't think of many things more eerie than walking alone at night and hearing that sound above everything else.
Sometimes you get detached from the reality of this place when you're going about your normal workday routine. If you don't leave base then you kind of forget where you actually are and how close you are to real life. The base seems relatively safe when you're walking around all day, but it only takes a voice from a loudspeaker or a few rounds of indirect fire to remind you that you're not as safe as you thought. I think some of it has to do with the T-wall blindness. Not being able to see past a few hundred meters will alter your view of things a bit. I don't even know what my reaction to seeing the horizon again will be. What was Columbus' reaction to seeing land after months at sea? Probably not the same, but it will be a trip. Too early to start counting yet.

*The title to this post is a reference to a funny story about a tank that was told to me by an old Cav scout I used to work with. He could have gotten out after he lost parts of both feet to an IED, but instead he's probably the best NCO I've ever met. This one is for you Jim, I'm glad one of us is home for Christmas.*