In a crappy tent in East Africa, where
not even the coldest winters dip below 65 at night, I laid in my
bunk. I wasn't sleeping, but certainly not awake, just in some
troubling limbo in between where rest wouldn't happen but nightmares
came. The nightmares haunted even after the alarm woke me up.
Then, the commute was a walk to the
showers, back to my tent to get dressed, to the dining facility, and
then to my office inside razor wire topped fences with cameras and
guards all about. The commute, my walk, was hot, muggy, and dusty.
The dirt and dust was a strange rusty color. It stuck to you
everywhere. While it was a fine, dusty material, it wasn't
comfortable at all. It was a thick muddy substance in all the areas
of skin that you forgot you had.
Once inside the office area, it is air
conditioned and comfortable. But, that is where the stress sweat
begins. The stink, too. The stench of sweat, too much coffee and
energy drinks, cigarettes, and god knows what else hung in the air in
that office. It was GO from the moment each person walked in the door
to start their day and it did not stop until, oh, 18 hours later you
threw up your hands in desperation, left for a war beer, a sweaty
game of darts, another shower, and another night of almost sleeping
and haunting nightmares.
Then there were those days that I had
been dropped off at the airport to make it to the plane. Just in
time, more often than not, getting to my terminal and boarding. I'd
settle into a seat that was designed for a person of a smaller size.
It isn't that I am fat, I exercise endlessly to relieve stress. I had
been a power lifter many years ago and am now larger than most
people, but, due to continuing aerobic raining, I am not fat. Still,
those seats were not designed for people. They were designed for
skeletons holding weights.
Soon, there was trying to fight my way
through the slow moving herd of people heading to the baggage claim
area. Why I rushed, I can't tell you. I always knew that I was going
to have to wait along with every other person from that plane. Still,
there I was, one of the first ones there to wait for the baggage feed
to start moving, and one of the first people standing there to
imagine themselves riding on the conveyor just for the fun of it
because we've wanted to do that since we were kids.
Some of the people there were picking
up their bags and heading to their beds, while others were heading
off to their next flight. Yup, there I was, running through the
terminal dragging my luggage because the tiny little wheels were
hardly even decorations. Running at a mad dash and barely making it
in time to board only to settle in and be that big sweaty guy who's
breathing hard that someone has to sit beside. At least I would be
able to have an overpriced drink with another horrid meal. I wouldn't
be able to get a decent meal until I got back home, in about two
weeks.
The day came when I gladly exchanged
the road warrior status for the five hour daily commute. Getting up
each day of the week and leaving the warmth and sanctity of my house
in the cold, dark hours of pre-dawn so I could turn the computers on
at my desk by six AM.
Daily body counts and movements of
civilian, military, and para-military forces in areas that most
Americans had no clue we were even operating in. This, and analyzing
the carnage that went along with it, was my busy day. Coordinating
efforts of people in various locations about my building, in other
states, and odd places about the world all trying to tell some your
troops, and a few old ones, who was where and what was why so they
could do.
This daily list wore on me, ground me
down until I could handle no more. Now, I commute from one end of my
house to the other, often in rapid succession, in order to complete a
series of simple tasks. All of which are geared towards getting my
children up, dressed, cleaned, fed, lunches put together, out the
door, onto buses, off to classes, and coffee made.
Busyness and running crazy hectic may
never change or stop. At least, now I can do that in house slippers,
dirty jeans, and a stained t-shirt and I don't have to shave or cut
my hair in a certain special way.
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