Day 166

Not much new to report, other than to say, "We've got 6 more months!" Of course, on the downside, we still have six more months. So, there I was, at the dining facility, carrying my tray with my plastic silverware and plastic plate, picking through the steam and chilled tables, and I loaded up on a salad and moved to top it off with croutons. We've had several dust storms of late, and the roads have been closed, and the delivery truck has been delayed, so there were no croutons for my salad. No croutons for my salad!? Man, this war sucks!

Day 164

I could spend the rest of the evening typing what "home" means to me, and even longer if I were to presume what home meant to others. Here, "home" has a distinct meaning. We all live in metal trailers, three rooms to a trailer, two people to a room. They are lovingly called Containerized Housing Units, or to use the Army acronym, CHU, pronounced "chew". I know I've already talked about the CHU, but for those of you who may not remember, the rooms are about the size of a college dorm room, except without all of the charm. To the vast majority of us, our CHU's are just that; rooms. Whenever we speak of home, almost always we are speaking of the United States. We all work, and then at the end of the day we say we're going to our CHU's. Rarely will anybody, at the end of another round of tedious monotony in front of a computer monitor but behind their desk, say they're going home. In fact, whenever anyone mentions that they're going home, they are always asked when their leave starts; when is their flight; where are they going? I think that, more than anything else here, is what keeps us going; knowing we're soon to be with our friends and family, at home. The United States is like a country with a split personality. On the one hand we want to remain isolated from the rest of the worlds ills, but on the other, we stand up to the bully in the neighborhood when he won't quit pulling on the cats tail. How many other countries in world history have conquered a country and then just up and left? Other regimes have always stayed and acted as "administrators"; we counsel, advise, arm, and when they're ready, we hand over the keys to the outhouse, pack our stuff, and go home.

Day 160

Daylight Savings time; who would have thought it'd be so difficult from 7,000 miles away? When we first arrived in theater, we were told that there is a nine hour difference between where we were and Central Time back home. In trying to figure out what time it was in the States, I looked at a clock, added three hours, and changed the 'm'. If it is 6 am here, then that meant it was 9 pm back home. If it is 6 pm here, then that meant it was 9 am back home. That worked fine until you started getting closer to the twelve o'clock mark. Using the original formula, then 11 pm would be 2 am, but it is in reality 2 pm. (I think that thought just gave me a nose bleed.) Now we throw daylight savings time into the mix. All you all in the States, with the expection of Arizona and Hawaii, switched to daylight savings time yesterday. We all remember the rule; Spring ahead/fall back. However we here in Iraq don't go on daylight savings time until the 29th of March. Since all you all sprung ahead an hour, that means that for the next three weeks I am only eight hours ahead of you, instead of nine. Not that this isn't confusing enough, but my worry is that if I were to begin calculating your time as an eight hours difference from my time, then just about the time I got used to the change in time it'd be time to revert to the original nine hour difference in time and I'd have to re-learn my time change all over again, and that'd just be a waste of time. I think what I'll do it keep calculting the time difference as a nine-hour seperation, and then subtract one hour. I know this makes it an eight hour difference, but if I think of it as a nine hour difference with a one hour adjustment, I'll be able to function for the next three weeks. I have to stop writing now; this is giving me a headache.

Day 159

You don't realize all the little things that are no longer in your life until you happen upon one. Today I had one of those moments. I was returning to my room after completing a necessary task and noticed an American nickle on the ground. I stopped and looked at it for a few moments before pocketing it. Loose change, or any metal change, is unheard of here. The few instances when we use American currency, in the shops, we get our change in bills and PX Pogs. The pogs are just like any other; cardboard or paper, with an image printed on both sides, but in this case, they also list the coin amount, such as 5 cents or 10 cents or 25 cents. (My computer does not appear to have a cent icon, and I don't remember the ASCII code, so you'll just have to use your imagination.) They are redemable only at the PX, which is ok because that's the only place to use loose change, or loose pogs, as the case may be. I suppose since there is no Wal-Mart, they have the literal monopoly on the local shoppers and print their own money. My guess is that it'd cost lots of money in shipping costs to have metal change shipped over here. And there is no sales tax, so when purchasing items in the local shops, owned by the PX, they usually price things to the exact dollar, removing the need for change in coins. And at the PX, just to make our lives easier, the PX prices are the same here as they are in the States, so $3.95 widgit here is a $3.95 widgit back home. Oh, it's so nice of the PX people to make our lives that much easier, so we don't have to worry about comparing different prices. Plus, who wants to jingle as they walk when they're in a combat zone? Not me, that's for sure.

Day 156

As the wise rat Nicodemus said, "You must move your house to the lee of the stone". (I'll let you try to guess the movie.) We here are there. When referring to the doldrums, is it acceptable to refer to it as doldrumic? Seems like it's a made-up word, but it is appropriate. We've been in Iraq now for just over three months. Everybody has their job figured out; everybody is settled; everybody has a routine. We have a few more months like this, and then shortly we'll begin the process of packing for the voyage back to the land of milk and honey, or snow and ice, or housing and stock market free-fall; whichever you prefer. It's not bad. It is just like any other job. Sooner or later you find your niche and slide into the comfort zone. However, here, one can't simply jump into the car and head off to the Olive Garden for a good meal and a cold beer. We travel from room to chow to work to chow to work to chow to room; repeat until redundency becomes reduntant. I have much to occupy my time in the off-hours; movies, books, piano playing, visiting. I have not yet found three people here who play pinochle. Must be a North Dakota game. Speaking of pinochle, I don't know that I have yet boasted of my triumph. In July of 2008, while returning from a performance in Turtle Lake, in the back of the bus, playing four-handed pinochle, with the assistance of my partner and an extremely fortuitous pass, I ended up with a thousand aces in my hand. I saved the scorecard. All my stuff is in storage, but if pressed, I know I could find that sheet of paper in less than five minutes. Yeah, me! Of course, I'd have to be home for that search to commence, but if there is anybody who is unable to wait for me to return, I'm sure we can contrive some emergency to get me home sooner. :)

Day 152

Oh Happy Day! Better than this being day 152, it is also Day 199. There are 199 days remaining until we have our Transfer of Authority (TOA) ceremony. Then it should be just a matter of a day or two until the planes wing us back to the States, then 5 days at de-mob station, and then home. Oh Happy Day! We're under 200 days! Now if I could only find my meaning in life. Or my meaning of life. Is there a difference? Should there be? Does the meaning in life dictate the meaning of life? Or is it the other way around? If you can't find a direction, or are unsatisfied with the way things are going, is it in your life, or because of your life? Will changing the things in your life give more meaning to your life, or are we predestined to lock ourselves into the patterns of life? When you have need of a change, it is in or of your life? By human nature we all gravitate to our comfort zone. Does that need for comfort stifle our ability to change ourselves when we feel the need? Why does it sometimes take a swift kick to the groin for some of us to see that we need a change? An editorial note; I've received several emails from people concerned for me, after reading my blogs. I do appreciate it, but things are ok. Please remember that we all write as we speak, or think, and my joy of adding sarcasm to everything I say is one of the few pleasures I have in life. If you have read a blog entry and have concern, please re-read it with the voice of Hughie, using his most laid-back, subtle voice of sarcasm. You should be able to read new life into most of the entries.

Day 151

I think we'll call this week 'the failed experiment'. For those of you who don't know, like an idiot, I started smoking again. I know, I know. While at Ft. Lewis I got a prescription for Chantix, which is an amazing thing. I used it and in no way, shape or form did I get ansty when I actually quit. It worked so well that about 5 days after I quit smoking I quit taking the pills. And then about 5 days after that, when all of the drug was out of my system, I started smoking again. So, last week Friday I went to the stop smoking class here, and got a prescription for Wellbutron. I started taking it Saturday and by Wednesday I was having some not-so-fun moments. When I got home from work that day, it felt as though my skin was trying to pull itself away from my body, and it took every ounce of energy I had to keep from crawling under my bed and assuming the fetal position. Not the best frame of mind to be in when bombs drop out of the sky every so often. I asked for Chantix but apparently the Army doesn't have any in Iraq, so it was the Wellbutron or nothing. I think smoking is better than that crap I was taking this week. All is well. I am chemical free and happy to be. You know, I got to the end of the last sentence and just couldn't figure out how to end it. I am certainly not happy to be here, but I am happy to be alive, with a future I like, with so many non-desert places to visit, with friends and family back home, I am just happy to be. Maybe that's the best way to end it. I think we'll leave it at that.