25 Minutes To Go

Right. I don't know. I don't know why I fucking hate everything all of a sudden. Oh wait yes I do. I have been lied to. Purposefully. Everyday. For as long as I can remember. Lied. Straight to my face. A real sincere guy who lives under clear skies lies to me as he beats his wife with his umbrella.
With leave, I look forward to March 12th 2008.
I wake up and it is dark. I run. I go home and shower and on the way back in, the sun comes up. I sit in a room with no windows. Sometimes I go to a classroom with no windows and learn about my vehicle, and all of its super secret shit. Sometimes I go to my vehicle and we ride around doing shit. Where I sit, there are no windows. I leave my office/vehicle/classroom and the sun is gone. I drive home, shower, drink a beer and go to sleep. Sometimes I steal away a few minutes to read about sports. This is my life and I will never get this time back.
It's not all bad though. I laugh a lot because that is all I can really do. Sometimes I love it. Every morning when I hit the third mile and start sprinting for the next 2 to 3 miles. I am bullet proof.
My hands have veins bulging I never knew I had. My forehead is dry. My hair is short and still bothering people with its excessive length.
I do my job. I do not complain at work. I do not let anyone know anything is bothering me. I contemplate how to go to jail. Because in jail, my biggest worry is actual anal rape. Not a mental anal raping.
The girls who call me danger boy say they are worried about me. I look sick. I look like you would if you dug a hole 200 feet deep, showered and was then told to dig deeper. I look like my father would have had he been 4/5 his size and puked because of headaches. They don't call me danger boy any more. They call me sir and ask how I am in a tone no one talks with in the Army. I smile, flirt, get what I need from the service support squadron and go away.
It's not only the Army though. Truth be told, I only hate the Army when I am not there. It's like dating a crack whore all over again. There is a sick joy to it. Like celebrating St. Patrick's Day while storming Omaha Beach.
It's everything else. It's the constant war in my mind. It's the pressure of gravity. It is waking up everyday and not feeling you are any closer graduation. Is this it? Is this what they promised me? Is this why I went to college? Is this why I went to graduate school? Is this why I didn't lay brick? Is this going to pay off? Who won the game last night? Is there a dice game I can get into? Where are my slippers?
I am sorry my turn to negative town has an adverse effect on your mental state. I am sorry I can not say things are better. I am sorry I don't report anything good. I am sorry I quit smoking. I am sorry I have done everything I have done, while you did all you did, and you have what I will never obtain. I tried to make sure my life would be secure. You shot heroin into your neck.
Where will I be in 17 months? Who will hire me? Where will I live? How will I afford things? Who will I know? What will I do? Do things get better when you walk away?
I am ashamed now. But I stand here laughing because I will not be distracted. I would give back everything you ever gave me and sell off everything I have ever earned in order to start over. I'd date more girls wearing bikinis made of diamonds.