Day 111

Well, if my days were years, it'd be the day that Bilbo Baggins left the Shire for a new adventure, leaving all of his worldy posessions in the care of Frodo Baggins. (Is that an Ork horn I hear in the distance?) Those of you who know me know I don't dance. Those of you who have seen me try will also agree that I don't dance. Well, war changes all of us, and I've found that while here, I dance. Oh, it's not the typical type of dance you'd see in a club, but rather a dance of necessity. Called the pee-pee dance by more than one adult in Iraq, it's a shuffle maintained by many. It's amazing how fast the water takes its toll on you. One minute you're working at your desk, and the next you're moving around, not realizing you're acutally doing the pee-pee dance. You think you have it under control and all is well with the world, until your body says that dance time is over; it's time to go. I didn't realize how many times a day I went to the bathroom until I got here. There is no indoor plumbing anywhere. Every time the call of nature turns into a scream for speed, we have to don our hats, grab our weapon, and hope we make it to the port-a-john in time. I have watched more than one full grown adult jog across the parking lot, making a beeline, or a pee-line, for the port-a-john. As much as I despise the heat, I think I'm actually kind of looking forward to the heat, just so I'll sweat more water out and won't have to keep on dancing my way to the bathroom. I'm not saying I'm looking forward to 120 degree plus heat, but maybe I'll cut down on the dancing, which I don't care for, anyway. I'd write more, but they're playing my song; the dance is starting soon.