Stupid moral obligations ...

Wednesday, Feb. 07, 2007, 8:28 p.m.

Last night after I got home from roughly six hours of briefing about how to evade and/or escape being captured by the enemy -- one lecture that I made sure not to fall asleep in -- I got a call from my top sergeant (some of you may remember him as Day Boss, and until I come up with a more accurate description of him, that is what he will continue to be) and my top officer, whom I will refer to as Head Boss, because that name requires little explanation.

The conversation went basically like this:

Head Boss (to me): "Do you want to get out of the Army?"

Me (thinking that this is obviously a trick question): "Well sir, I do want to get out of the Army, but until that happens I will continue to do my job to the best of my ability."

Head Boss: "Because we need an individual of your experience and skill level to deploy with us, but it has been my perception that you are a liability to this team, and I have been planning to tell the battalion commander just that."

Me (confused as to where this is going): "Sir, I can assure you that I am not a liability. I have always and will continue to work just as hard and harder at my job than anyone else in our section, and I think that everyone here can attest to that."

Head Boss: "I know you've had issues in the past with certain individuals and certain events in your life, and [Day Boss] has told me that you are continuing to work through them and are progressing. I want to know whether or not I can count on you to be a valuable member of this team."

Me (still trying to figure out if this conversation is one that I should be reading into a bit more closely): "Of course you can count on me, sir."

Head Boss: "Okay then. So I will tell the battalion commander that my previous assessment of you was wrong, and that you are prepared to be a part of this mission."

Me (now in full What In The Fuck ... Mode): "Roger, sir."

Head Boss: "So you are going to deploy with us, correct?"

Me (AAAAAAAAH!!!): "That's right, sir."

Head Boss: "Okay, that's what's happening then. Are you ready to do this?"

Me (AAAAAAHHHH!!!!): "Yes I am, sir."

I sat quietly for a moment.

"Did I somehow ... volunteer for deployment?" I asked myself. "No ... no. No, I couldn't have. What -- really? No. What?"

I was still involved in a variation of this inner monologue a few minutes later when Day Boss, who had heard the entire conversation via the miracle of speakerphone, called me back.

"I really appreciate what you just did," he said. "That shows me that you are really trying to do the right thing."

Somehow, I managed to mumble something reasonably resembling words in response.

"Just keep that attitude and you'll do fine," he replied. "Goodnight!"

"Good ... night."

I'm not sure whether I feel like an idiot or a winner. Obviously, I've been mulling over this exchange of words for most of the day, and although it continues to baffle me, I have reason to believe that I may, for once, have done the right thing -- by accident. Because apparently inadvertent acts of correctness are the way I roll.

Anyway, I still hold to my point that even though this deployment is going to be long, stressful, exhausting and emotionally taxing for me, I could have it way worse. I'm not the only one who was stop-lossed, and thinking about it now, I would feel like a total jackass if I went ahead and tried to get out of the Army on time while everyone around me shipped out. I guess what it boils down to is that I can't bring myself to be that kind of That Girl.

I mean, don't misinterpret this as meaning that I'm doing this because I truly want to, or because I think it's a good idea, or because I have suddenly become Super-Happy-Suck-Up Soldier. I firmly believe that I'm doing this because deep down, I know that if I don't do it -- if I get out of it on a technicality -- I will be making light of everyone else's sacrifice. I'll be saying that I am Special, that I deserve to stay home when my fellow soldiers pack up and go to war, and that the contract I signed is negotiable. And honestly, no matter how badly I want to, I can't say that.

I will say that Husband is being extremely supportive, and promises that in contrast to the Douchebag Fiesta of 2005, this deployment is going to be his time to show me that he is indeed the New and Improved Husband. And holy hell, if we can get through two year-long separations within three years of marriage, then I personally believe that we will qualify for superhero status.

So, there you have it. In the vicinity of five weeks from now, we, my friends, are going back to Baghdad. And, as they say in the movies, Baghdad had better watch the fuck out. Because this time? We are PISSED. OFF.