I take my benedryl sometime in the later afternoon, early evening and lay down. This is supposed to help with the whole sleep thing, and as a result, curb my anxiety.

We're out there yet again, and this time, Iraq doesn't bear any semblence to home. We're on foot, and everything has an orange tint to it, hot, moist sand and trash fires. From underneath a bridge, a crowd of people dissipates as we approach. One of them bends down and lights a cloth hanging out of a bottle of Jack Daniels.

In the back of my mind, I wonder if JD can even burn.

"Molotov cocktail!"

He throws it as we scatter and it smashes next to a rusted out car and explodes in alcohol flames. Everyone rushes to put any small fires on themselves out. The Thrower turns tail and runs under the bridge.

"Where the fuck is my M4?!"

This time, all of us don't have our weapons. Atleast we've got our gear. I see my M4 laying on the ground and I snatch it up. The center is on fire and I blow on it like an idiot, until I'm light headed and I slap the remaining embers off.

And then I run under the bridge. The Boss calls back, "Wait for First Sergeant before we do actions on the objective!"

Really, do fuck off. That would be great.

I see The Thrower and a friend with body armor sneaking along a ledge with chain link fence on it, like a downward ramp leading into a warehouse or parking garage. And I think to myself, "This is it. We've got positive identification for once, there's no jerking our dicks about this one."

So I put my little red dot on the center of The Thrower's face and squeeze the trigger. The round impacts in the side of his temple and behind his ski mask, his eyes go dark, and his body goes limp. His friend clutches him with one arm and hangs on to the fence with the other.

I put the dot on his fat curly-haired head and squeeze.


No hand wakes me up. It's just me, in bed at 11:00 at night, through a haze of benedryl. And now I'm up for the night. These dreams aren't even terrifying, they're just haunting in a strange sense. And then they're gone, leaving me to count down the hours, or the months.

And that neighbor of mine fucks with his plastic drawers again, and the sounds echo in the quiet of the tent and that hungover sensitivity drives me halfway insane and for a second, I offhandedly consider picking up those plastic drawers and throwing them outside, like they're the one little thing precluding me from getting some really great sleep.

But he's done and I forgive his drawers now that they've shut the hell up and now there's nothing but the sound of helicopters somewhere, and that's ambient noise as far as I'm concerned. It's the outgoing artillery that constitutes as "severe disruption".

Now, however, it's time to stop mashing the keyboard, waste some time on Al Gore's Horrible Invention and then try to sleep again. I figure it's 50/50, I either dream about Iraq or about weed. Explain THAT one to your pharmacist.


  1. Jessie said...
    Explain THAT one to your pharmacist.

    Well, cakes, there's one of two things: Dr. Cathy would look at me like I was on something much, much stronger than my insulin, or would not even blink after dealing with Godmom's medicines. Godmom has a couple bottles of pain pills, extra ones of course. Because apparently old people get extras.

    Also, Titus is an evil comedian.
    Anonymous said...
    Post 300, a milestone as one year ends and the next begins.

    O the mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
    Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.
    Hold them cheap
    May who ne'er hung there.
    I wake and feel the fell of dark,
    not day.
    And I have asked to be
    Where no storms come.

    Gerard Manley Hopkins

    To better days and nights;
    Stay classy Short-Timer,
    WmEarl said...
    As a culture we count too much, little things too often, and think that it means something because the number gets larger. Politicians roar out "billions", never having personally counted that high, nor seen anything in that amount to have counted - remembering that six billion humans plague the Earth with their importance. I dream of the military and old wars too often, do wait for the First Sergeant, he is older than you and needs help catching up... take care out there.
    Anonymous said...
    One at a time... 'till you come home...

    OIF3 said...
    I have similiar dreams except instead of not having weapons when you need them, I shoot round after round but they have no affect in stopping the bad guys. It always creeps me out.
    Jenni said...
    "the man who single-handedly killed manbearpig is a loser? yeah right."

    "i am super duper serial."

    gotta love making fun of al gore. =)

    and just to let you know, benedryl is great at messing with your mind, especially if you're already thinking too much. but you probably know that by now...

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