Let's see what happens when you mix pain pills with journaling!

Wednesday, Feb. 21, 2007, 8:27 p.m.

Today I got my remaining three wisdom teeth yanked, and life is gooooood ... meaning "meeeeeeedicated!"

It's serving as a nice little break for me because life has been, as I may have mentioned about a gamillion times, a bit hectic recently. As our projected deployment date creeps closer and closer, the heads of the Powers That Be creep further and further up their collective ass. Currently, we're in the middle of a training exercise that is supposed to get us all ready for the jobs we'll be doing once we get downrange (a militarywide term meaning "to the combat zone," which our division's chief of staff has recently decreed that we must not use anymore, for some reason that may have to do with no fucking train of thought that I could ever even imagine, much less seriously speculate on) (I know -- Big Brother, much?).

Now, I've participated in quite a few training exercises since I've been in the Army. I, along with the majority of my co-workers, know that generally speaking, they require manual labor (setting up tents, generators, computer equipment, every other piece of equipment we own, etc.), long hours (to try and get used to what it will be like once we're in Iraq), flexibility (to accommodate the constant changes in command guidance, timelines, shifts and the world as we know it) and the ability to retain the necessary balance of anger, bitterness, fortitude and apathy to protect one's sanity by using a scarily convincing vocal screen of false motivation.

For example, let's say an individual who outranks you gives you a task to complete. The task 1) involves some sort of long, difficult process, 2) is time-sensitive, 3) is something that should have already been done -- most likely by the person who is delegating it to you, 4) could be replaced by an easier, quicker way, but 5) is only authorized to be done the original, long, tedious way.

In this situation, your job is to look that individual in the eye, possibly smile (depending on whether or not he or she is the type who takes joy in others' pain) (usually a 50-50 chance) and respond with a loud, confident "HOOAH!" or "Roger that!"

Now. If you have developed the type of false motivation that I just described, you are mentally and emotionally fit enough to undertake the job you've been given -- any job you are given, in fact.

If, on the other hand, you have been allowing yourself to be fueled by genuine motivation, this is where you hit a stumbling block, because real motivation to succeed often indicates a need to get things done in the most logical, efficient way possible. Every time you are forced by your superiors to go against that need and just carry out instructions "The way I tell you to do it, because that's what I told you to do" a tiny bit of your honest-to-goodness motivation and drive will die. Eventually, every drop of it will dry up, and you will be left with nothing but anger, bitterness and apathy. Fortitude will be replaced by sarcasm, and it's all downhill from there.

The latter scenario is what originally happened to me, and now, I fear, is exactly what could happen to Babymomma if she's not careful.

This is her first real field training exercise. She's not used to the twelve- to thirteen-hour shifts, she's not used to the various snafus that inevitably happen on a regular basis no matter how carefully you plan, and she's not used to all of the uncertainty and fast pace that we've jumped into over the past few weeks. Don't get me wrong: she's learning very quickly, and has shown a sincere desire to continue learning.

But today, I saw that light of motivation in her eyes begin to fade ever so slightly. And dammit, that pisses me off.

You see, false motivation has been the driving force behind just about every other one of my co-workers (as well as, of course, me) for so very long that when Babymomma showed up all bright-eyed and innocent and ready to learn, it was like a breath of fresh air for me. She didn't have the hardened glare, the cynicism, the omnipresent sneer and all the other qualities of a soldier who's dealt with just about every brand of bullshit there is. She was (and I think Michael Stipe would agree with me on this one) a Shiny, Happy Person. And she still is! But not for long.

The thing is this: Babymomma and her Shiny Happiness must be preserved. She is the Childlike Empress of our division. But in order to do this ... oh, this hurts ... I am going to have to show her that I am optimistic.

Me.

Visibly optimistic.

For the good of the whole.

Wish me luck, people. At least I can still be a raging asshole here.

Oh! And guess what? I'm back on Night Shift.

Is it just me, or is it really the case that over the last two years ... this diary has nearly come full circle?

I, personally, am afraid.

Actually there is one part of my life that hasn't just been in a two-year orbit, and that is Husband. Since September, I've seen him make such drastic changes in his behavior and mentality that I've considered the possibility that he had some kind of lobotomy after I moved out of the house to turn him into Sir Husband the Sweet and Attentive.

In fact, this past weekend, he did something I've been hinting for him to do since we first decided to make the transition from friends-with-benefits to Actual Couple: he took me on a date.

Before you think I've gone out of my mind and lowered my standards down to the pit of Hell, let me explain.

Husband and I were never a typical couple. For the first year we knew each other, our "relationship" was based almost soley on sex. And drinking. And various combinations of the two. During that time we became good friends, but didn't spend any extra time or energy trying to impress one another because -- well, what would have been the point? Once you've been sleeping with a person on at least a weekly basis, it's more or less a given that you two are not, shall we say, displeased with each other. And Husband and I, for the most part, were fine with that.

Once we got married though, I started thinking a bit more indepth about it, especially because it seemed as though it was stemming from an underlying respect issue -- namely, he didn't have any for me -- and if you've been reading this diary since its meager beginning or even just a year or so, you'll know that I was absolutely right about that issue.

So, now let's just skim over the events of the past couple years so I can tell you that it was a big deal to me when we got dressed up like this ...

... and went here to eat delicious Italian food, and stayed here in the middle of downtown so that we could walk to our favorite piano bar after dinner.

And we were both ...

... very happy.

Oh, and, um, we kind of got a ... souvenir:

Oh, shut up.

The next day we walked around town for a while because it was such a luscious afternoon, and I realized that of all the years I've lived in or around this beautiful city, I've never really taken the time to get any good pictures of it. I'm sure you know how it is -- you just get used to what you see all the time.

So, I decided to go all artsy for an hour or so and see the city through some snap-happy tourist's eyes.

This one should be a gimme, I hope.

Same building, different angle.

And again. Sorry, I love this building!

Dying plant outside the Custom House.

This is a Catholic church next to one of the squares. Apparently they have a Gregorian Chant service there every Sunday night, and I never knew it. Too bad, because can you imagine the acoustics in a building like that? Take me away to Meditation Station!

One of the squares downtown; I can't remember which one, but it was the only one I could see that had no Spanish moss in it at all.

A rainbow in the fountain.

Looking through the fountain.

The top portion of City Hall, I believe.

This guy was making rings and bracelets from forks and spoons, right there on the spot.

Before ...

During ...

Finished product!

Speaking of ... not what I'm about to talk about, do you guys remember my Army Strong slogan commentary that my Head Boss wouldn't allow to go to print?

Well, I sent it up to the Army Times to see if they would print it, and I heard back from the editorials editor there, who said they would consider it.

(!!!)

I would just love to see Head Boss' face on the day that a piece I wrote, which he rejected, was printed in a national publication.

Hey! (Last random non-segue, I SWEAR.)

I nearly forgot: click here if you want to read about my Favorite(ish) Moment of Adolescence (co-written by my faithful pain pills) over at Dom's diary, because he went a little insane, I think, and listed me as a guest poster.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my ex-wisdom teeth and their trusty sidekick, Lort@b, are telling me it's nearly time for bed.