To everything there is a season
My first years in the Army were, from what I’ve gathered, similar to the average college freshman’s semester, except with sergeants instead of professors and morons instead of coeds. Our motto was “work hard, play hard, and by ‘play hard’ we mean ‘drink hard.’” We weren’t worried about getting fired or laid off – job security is one thing the military guarantees – so we destroyed our bodies and minds a little more every weekend or weekday, depending on the weather.
After I got out of that lifestyle and began settling back into reality, I took up the rallying cry of “Moderation!” Less is more, I insisted, and took only enough hits on the joint to become comfortably high. “Everything in its right place,” I shouted, and sipped only enough of the wine to relax with a tingly buzz.
Lately, I feel like I’ve lost sight of that kind of common sense. Maybe it’s because I’ve truly, finally quit smoking, or maybe it’s because I’ve lost myself in the scene, but my vices are definitely on the upswing. It’s like I’m back in Iraq and not getting laid, except the motive is more pure.
Whatever the cause, I need to chill right the hell out. The last thing I want to do is alienate the new friends I’ve tried to put at ease because I act like a mix between an infantryman and a flapper when I get a few shots in me. Last night, Eric played a gig with some of his other regular bandmates, and I vaguely remember calling their guitar player “Patchy” in honor of his beard. If that’s a compliment these days, I’m glad to know it, but last I heard, the humor generally got kind of lost on the recipient.
Anyway, from now on, it’s probably best for me to stick to the marijuana … ahem, when discussing drugs of which I would never ever partake. Hello, Big Brother!
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The last photo on my most recent entry was taken near Mt. Diablo – in California, southeast of Oakland. Go there! And bring your dog, since, if he is anything like my dog, he will have a great time rolling around in something dead.
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Cities in which I will be for approximately one day next week: Arcata CA, Ashland OR, Eugene OR, Portland OR, Seattle WA, Olympia WA. Eric’s band is playing there. If you want to dance like a happy little dork with me while also supporting him (and the band, obviously) by coming to the shows, drop me an e-mail at ferocitymill [at] gmail [dot] com and I’ll give you details.
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Today’s Moment of Zen:
Anyone who says they would rather wear a Kevlar helmet than blue hair made of yarn is probably not on a hike in northern California.
Why do dogs think dead things make the best perfume? I once had a dog that loved to roll on dead worms, after a rainstorm she would roll on every single drowned worm she could find, and she was actively searching. Gross!
Love the blue yarn hair by the way, very fetching.
Kat
March 13, 2009 at 8:56 am
If the blue hair is the result of not taking illegal drugs, I might start not taking them myself. Love the look.
About quitting smoking. I was a three pack a dayer when I finally stopped for good. For about the first year I had lots of colds and felt dull because I WAS dull, coming down from the nicotine. Stick with it; my guess is your mood is associated with withdrawal which can take a long time. Eric and friends will be happy for you, even if you are a crusty bitch at the moment.
Back Nine
March 15, 2009 at 6:10 am
You are living the life I wanted to live at your age (oh shit, did I just use THAT phrase?) Well, minus some of the vices, that is. I love your photos!
warcrygirl
March 15, 2009 at 8:07 am
You rock that blue hair. I think I missed an entry because all of a sudden there’s an Eric mentioned…figuring he’s the boy who can spell.
Kathleen
March 20, 2009 at 4:33 am
Last week my son called us and said he was being medically discharged from the Army. He hadn’t finished AIT. He was having anxiety attacks. I don’t know how to help him.
Karen aka nevragn
March 22, 2009 at 1:04 pm
Strangely, I never felt the need for blue hair when I used to hike in Northern California in my 20’s. Am very happy to hear about you giving up smoking though. The need for other “vices” might possibly be a coping mechanism for both smoking and truly coming back from Iraq (if you’re finally settling down a bit and not constantly traveling). Either way I’m really proud of you. And as always, love the photos, Ms. Thang.
awittykitty
March 22, 2009 at 9:34 pm
Lady,
I am super pumped for you. I have been following your misadventures since your fab Xanga blog on your first tour of Iraq.
Long story short, I think you’ve done us all proud. (Us being all those random people who have been entertained by your hijinks for the last few years.) I agree with everyone that you should indeed write a book. You wouldn’t have to try too hard–your xanga is practically already one and its all laid out in chronological order for you already.
Candi Summers
March 30, 2009 at 8:06 am