Saturday, May 07, 2005
He calls it Cabin Fever. The dull monotany, every day the same. DFAC pseudo steaks, FOB security details, Combat Logistic Patrols. The occasional mortar even or small arms fire. The power flipping off and the generator flipping on (sometimes). That one guy who can't sleep and will somehow find a way to wake you up. The guy with feet that smell so bad you could use his socks as WMD. Phone and internet, but not enough time and always a goodbye.
We have clerks and staff guys, pleading for us to let them go on routine convoys, just to get off the FOB and see or do something different.
We've been here over 100 days now, but after the first 30, we were already calling it FOB Ground Hog, after a certain movie with Bill Murray.
This sounds nuts, and you don't want anyone to get hurt, but the latest attack gives you all something new to talk about. How the jerk insurgent did this bonehead thing, or they dropped some rounds in the lake, or they hit a septic truck, or they tried to ram the gate only to find three more rows of concrete wall or a hailstorm of lead that stops them 100 meters out. The gallows humor. (My LT responds to suicide bombers as one more step towards a smarter planet, with one less stupid guy.)
Go read about Mustang 23's day. I did, it was interesting to me to see that someone else's life here can be as boring as mine! (Mrs. Dadmanly tells me boring is good, because boring is usually safe.)
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