Rant-erriffic!

Tuesday, Mar. 13, 2007, 3:33 a.m.

Well! I see that if I ever feel the need to start a revolution, I'll know who to call. Damn the Man, indeed! If every servicemember had a neck tattoo, the world would be a better place.

In other news, why in the name of all that is holy am I awake and writing at this time of night? Hm. Probably because I have been busily doing the Man's bidding for the past two and a half hours, and the rage within me will not let me sleep until I have shared it with the world.

In a nutshell: for some reason unbeknownst to me or any other animate object to INCLUDE sea coral and two-toed sloths, the commanding general of my division is too goddamn important to read the news on the Internet, and requires it to be compiled by his Public Affairs minions, PRINTED OUT, put into a GAY-ASS LITTLE BINDER, and placed on his fucking desk every morning before 5 a.m. Guess who the minion is right now?

No, it's not Anna Nicole Smith. She's dead. Although I would imagine that a dead person could probably do this job with more motivation than I currently do. For real, I'm not even going to go into any more detail about this "job" because I think elaborating on such blatant retardity would send me into the sort of tizzy that results in buildings being destroyed. I don't think I really need that kind of attention right now, honestly.

Our departure date is tentatively set for a week from today. I'm freaking out just a tiny bit because of the fact that I haven't gotten anything on my mental to-do list done except "Drown sorrows in alcohol" and "Repeat," and the stress is really fucking with me. I know that in order to keep myself mentally and physically healthy I need to just calm the hell down and get it all done, but for some reason, I can't seem to do that. Of course, when I procrastinate, nothing gets accomplished, and stress sets in, and I believe we have all now noted the vicious cycle.

I don't know; the closer I get to leaving, the more helpless I feel. I hate having no control over the next year-to-eighteen-months of my life, especially because it's just now starting to really dawn on me that I'm actually going back. I keep telling myself that I'm not going to succumb to depression or a nervous breakdown or the urge to just flee! flee for the border! or that by the end of this tour, I'll have a metric assload of cash in the bank, hooray, but every day I become a little less sure about that. I picture Husband Drama, and loneliness, and overwhelming workloads, and that horrendous, brain-melting heat, and I can practically feel my seratonin levels bottoming out.

Maybe I just need some decent sleep.

Since I would like to not end this entry on a complete downer, here are a few moments of happiness from this past weekend, during which both Husband and my lovely mother came to visit me:

The city dyed the fountain's water green in preparation for St. Patrick's Day, as it does every year.

Husband is pretty good at entertaining himself.

A monument to Confederate soldiers in Forsyth Park

Husband and Mom walk through the park, probably talking about vitamins.

Leaves on the path

A random juggler allows me to take pictures of him

Husband involuntarily practices balancing a water bottle on his head.

Random last items:

- A few of you mentioned that you'd like to see the rest of my tattoos -- well, I have whorishly obliged you. Just click here and you can scroll through them, descriptions and all. (I am such a pushover.)

- The Quote of the Day came from Babymomma, whose sister recently began work at an establishment of skanky repute, and who mentioned to me today that Mondays are Margarita Night at Texas Roadhouse.

"Would you like to go drink margaritas later?" I asked her.

"Nah," she replied. "I've got the baby and my sister's strippin' tonight."

Damn straight.