The War Never Left

I was asked to speak Veteran’s Day at an anti-war event by the Chicago Vietnam Veterans Memorial. While I would like to spend a bit more time refining this message as it feels like a run-on sentence. Here is the speech as penned. “My name is Edgar Gonzalez. I’m a teacher, a veteran, an artist, an immigrant, a latino, and I’m queer. With the president elect, I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t scared. I deployed to war Iraq in 2005, and came back home in 2006. Many would say that a war is coming. I say that the war never left. It’s always been there, in the corners of the TV screens, in social media posts, in newspaper stories, in the communities which have bad news reported with the matter-of-fact assumption that bad news always happens there, like the south or west sides of Chicago. The war is present in the way that churches are firebombed because the congregation is black. Or the way that we are told that we are told that we should be afraid of immigrants from “over there in the Middle East” because they might be terrorists while we ignore the terrorists in our own house. The war is present in how an armed militia of American men can occupy federal land, be peacefully negotiated with, and then later acquitted because of the color of their skin, while Native people are first ignored, then maced, spied on, tear-gassed and bulldozed by police forces using the same equipment I saw used in Iraq while the First Nations are defending their right to clean drinking water. The war is present in the military industrial complex which refuses to hire a transgender woman at a grocery store, or a restaurant, or a clinic; criminalizes the sex work she will turn to as a means of survival, but then lifts a ban on transgender people enlisting on the military because the quotas of enlistees from poor communities can no longer satisfy the military’s need for bodies to send to the front lines of conflicts so wide-spread and far-flung they are as difficult to keep track of as number of unarmed black people gunned down by police, the black women killed, or like Marissa Alexander, jailed because they are put in impossible positions, or the trans women of color with such disdain that if it weren’t for the activists mobilizing and imploring us to #SayHerName, we might never know about them at all. The war is present in how economic policy devastates our infrastructure, starves our education, leaves millions of people without jobs by downsizing any industry which does not have a direct tie to benefit of a war based economy and insists that there is no money to tend to the sick, without inflating big pharmaceuticals, or for education, which might rob the military of a pliable uncritical mind they could recruit, rebuild a crumbling infrastructure that might provide our families clean drinking water, safe roads to travel on, heat for our loved ones in the winter. The war has been here and is roosting in the hatred the Trump campaign has inspired and emboldened. The kind of racism, sexism, xenophobia, islamophobia, transphobia, and homophobia which the Trump campaign has legitimized. Against the war, it is important to remain educated, dedicated, and ready. The battles are in discussing uncomfortable topics outside of social media. In breaking of dinner table taboos and speaking out for what you believe in. Our battles are in the premise of being. Of being an immigrant, latinx, queer, a woman, trans, a veteran, a muslim, black, or any other race or religion. In doing what you do to carry yourself, your family, and your loved ones forward. In the backlash against our communities, existing is a battle in this war. In my opinion - being yourself fully, openly, aggressively loving is one of the battles you can win every day. Take care of yourselves Take care of each other Educate yourselves Support the people who organize by being present, or by making snacks for them to take to rallies and marches, or by being a check-in buddy for them, donating time or money, getting involved with political organizing, getting involved in local politics and running for school boards, and local positions. We can move forward de-militarizing police, properly funding education, providing healthcare, providing shelter for the homeless. We CAN confront this new assault of racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia. Steadfast Shoulder to shoulder taking care of each other. “

An Arbitrary Anniversary

Eight years ago, I was fighting the flue and had missed a drill weekend which was part of my commitment to my contract with the United States Army Reserves. I actually agonized over whether or not I would go to drill that weekend because while I was sick and feeling rather miserable, I also had a misguided sense of duty combined with a diminished sense of self-care. I ended up doing what could be considered the responsible thing and stayed home with my sickness. It was February 13, 2005; a Sunday morning. My supervising NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer) called my house asking to speak with me. She asked me how I was, and if I was recovering well, and if I was sitting down. I said I was, and she replied with "You're going to Baghdad". Whatever visceral emotional response I might have had, I will never know. Reflexively I was a clear minded professional calculating a thousand things which were contingent on my almost robotic reply: "What's my timeline?"

The next day was a series of phone calls, and e-mails to school. I was within a year of graduation of a series of classes which I had fought tooth and nail through a portfolio review to get into. It was imperative I knew I would have my place held or if I was going to have to resubmit my portfolio again. I had to notify work, and I had to let certain friends and family know I was leaving soon - really soon.

After a few farewells, and a few very encouraging metaphorical but well needed kicks in the ass, I was not sad when I was saying my farewells and good byes. I consequently found out I would have far more time than the "This Thursday" my NCO told me, as there was training I had to complete prior to heading overseas.

The deployment was a profoundly formative experience in my life, which I cannot say with any sort of confidence that I would be the person I am today were it not for that experience. There are people whom I would have never been put on a path to meet were it not for how my military service and actually deploying affected the way I think, and helped shape my values and beliefs. There are people like Marc-Anthony, or Cherie whom I would have never spoken too or been fortunate enough to befriend. The introduced me to Sacha Sacket, wonderful ideas, and unbridled kindness of strangers. A longer lasting kindness than the Bangor Troop Welcomers, who also are very deserving of my respect.I would have never met the other "nerdiest person in the batallion" Lysandwr, my deployment girlfriend! If I had not deployed to Baghdad I would not have taken an interest in foreign languages and cultures, nor would I have gotten involved with the Vet Art Project, and met Lisa, Jessa, Tim, and subsequently Aaron, Sabrina, Nicky, Vinny, Alejandro, Barry, Hans, or Iris. My friendship with Susheela would not have been as nurturing nor fulfilling. I would not make the kind of art which I am making now, nor would I explore the ideas and grapple with the issues which I grapple with now.

So today, I honor my eighth anniversary to my deployment to a war we should have never fought, but my involvement in has made me a more conscientiousness and engaged inhabitant of the world.

Pitfalls of Finding a Balance and Failing to make Substantial Art during Study Halls

I am trying to find a balance in teaching trying to pair a theme with some fairly technical projects, for what ends up being overall a fairly technical class. I'm tasked by the curriculum to teach my students good composition along with strengthening their skills shading with a pencil. I'm trying to pair the book which they will be reading in their American Literature Classes "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien, and "The Things They Carried" exhibit at the National Veterans Art Museum. I'm expanding it include the Gulf War, Afghanistan & Iraq in the past decade. I am at an awkward juncture where too many of my students are not finished with the previous project for me to pull a proverbial plug on studio work, but I also have close to half the class who is now finished and ready to begin a new project. I'm hoping tomorrow will be a better on this front.

In other news: I am failing at finding an artistic something I can do besides decorating my hall passes during my study hall periods. I am usually reviewing my notes for how class went that day, or lesson planning, or composing presentations, or teacher journal logs, or reading the myriad e-mails I receive. I do get a few moments in which I can sit and observe and let my gears turn, and creativity percolate, sometimes. My issue is that nothing worthwhile has brewed up that is not a lesson plan or image presentation. I have nothing I have created that makes me squee with delight, and proclaim "I made this!" like a kindergartener bringing home a piece worthy of the refrigerator door-and this bothers me.

Adventures in Teaching or Biting off more than I can chew.

I successfully completed my first week of teaching and have been busily coordinating and concocting some plans for the school year. I have no clue how I will be able to balance out working at Oak Forest High School while sponsoring Art Club, Teaching the Community Arts Sustaining Academics Program, and Co-leading and continuing programing for the Vet Art Project. Where there is a will, there is a way. I still have a month in which to set down as much of the groundwork for the Vet Art Project and balance out my schedule of staff, department, and programing meetings as all of this will play a part in how I am able to do my jobs.
At OFHS, taking full advantage of the fact that I am only teaching one section of art, I have compared notes on all my students and touched base with as many of the Social Studies and English teachers to basically get the gears turning on cooperative lessons bridging art and historical context in academics. I already have one teacher who would like to co-plan a lesson on the Reconstruction in post Civil War America, and the Fox Sisters basically purporting to be supernatural mediums, and pairing it with a black & white drawing lesson.
In my concerted efforts to go out and do things and not be such a hermit, Thursday, I had gone to a speaking event at the National Veterans Art Museum. There I met two very cool veterans, Brock & Jake and reconnected with other cool veterans I had met before (Barry & Sabrina). Brock & Jake have been traveling cross country talking about their visits back to Afghanistan and have so many striking, shocking, and beautiful stories about their experiences. I had dinner with all of them afterwards were we chatted and met up with another veteran who had recently come back from Afghanistan the evening before. After this encounter and dropping Brock off at Midway to catch his flight, I stopped by Atomic Sketch afterwards to check out the art and acquired some artwork for my personal collection as well as talking with some of the artists at Atomic Sketch about the possibility of having them come speak to either my class, or for Art Club. Altogether it was a rather busy evening.
This got my gears turning, in which in the most grandiose delusions, I could have a panel of veterans speaking about their experiences and discussing how a decade's worth of war has shaped our culture as is, as well as what is going on as well as giving a first person perspective on what military veterans have had to go through. At its most humble, having a few guest speakers either for my own classroom, or for art club to do demonstrations and share a little bit of their experiences. With everything I will have to do over the course of the school year, it is exciting and new, and at the same time I ask myself: Am I biting off more than I can chew?

Picture of Bryan and me: delayed

It has been a long while since I have painted anything that attempted to be remotely photo realist in more than 3 colors. Being a bit of a nit picker who likes to pick nits, I usually hold a very fixed idea when I begin a project. The exception to this rule would be my collage panels, since that is a jigsaw with no concrete answer, and i don't know I am done until I glue down something, look at the collage as a whole, and am satisfied with the result. I digress. I will have a very specific vision of what I would like my finished product to look like, and there is little room for error or variance.
Back in 2009, I had a brief and serendipitous encounter with one Bryan Anderson, Army Staff Sergeant, Retired. He was blown up by an Improvised Explosive Device in Iraq, and his story was followed by many media outlets. He received a Purple heart for his injuries, and became a pseudo celebrity in the sense that he is one of the triple amputees who survived his injuries overseas. His story also helped me be at peace with the distinct possibility that if I were injured when I was in Iraq, and came home with a fraction of my physical self, that would be fine, as long as I came home. That is a rather dark and grim thought, firmly grounded in reality, and ultimately a pragmatic and crucial conclusion to come to when the alternative which you have to confront is death. In helping me accept this, Bryan Anderson was by example a hero. I had the opportunity to shake his hand, and his girlfriend was kind enough to snap a photograph of me with him. I have kept this photograph in my laptop and backed up on several different USB Drives, and external hard drives. After some time and wanting to increase my production output, I decided I wanted to make a painting of this photograph. I attempted to pencil in our figures on the canvas prior to painting, however I became increasingly frustrated at subtle variances in what I had drawn and what the digital image was. I would erase, and paint over the failed attempts several times before I resorted to a technique which I use with my students. My printer having bit the dust after many years of loyal service, I headed to a retail print shop and had a transparency of the photo created. I would use the overhead projector at school to project the image onto the canvas. This idea was foiled with the bulb in the classroom's projector being out. As such, I must wait until the bulb is replaced before I can proceed with this particular project.

A Tall Order... and a cool idea

I have been working on focusing my students in learning a little bit about Veteran's Day instead of doing the tired turkey curriculum most elementary art teachers usually push for November. I will state I am not criticizing elementary school teachers for teaching Thanksgiving in November, it is the dominant holiday. My students learned about several different veterans, and my shortcomings fall in how much they learned about each veteran. The stars of the class are Paul Reickhoff, founder of IAVA; and Salvatore Giunta, the first living recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor since Vietnam War. Other veterans include Tammy Duckworth, Dustin Hunter, Matthew Bogdanos, Pat Tillman, and Bryan Anderson. The Assistant Principal at the school where I teach thought it would be a great idea if I were to get in touch with the living veterans, or family members of the deceased veterans to send them copies of the drawings the students are making. I was a little bit stunned when she made this recommendation. I think my students are progressing splendidly in in their drawings. It is a challenge to draw a portrait with little or no drawing experience. However, I do ask my students to try their best. I will push them, sometime to the point where they get angry at me, but the push is worthwhile. But I digress. The idea of getting in touch with all these people, and sending them a series of images to several veterans who have had some manner of media coverage at some point in their lives... makes me a little uncomfortable. It would not be the probable rejection that scares me, but the idea that one or more of them take interest and decide they want to visit my class. I find this prospect highly improbable, but regardless of the improbability, intimidatingly daunting. Art

Gallery Opening & Show

This past Friday, I had a gallery opening in Crystal Lake at the Lakeside Legacy Arts Park. Veterans Views: Stories & Images, opened at the Dole Gallery at historic Dole Mansion. The opening went beyond any expectation I had fathomed.

I have lagged behind on posting my reaction to this event because I was a little tired, and also I had to take some time to just process. There is a span of artwork that spans technical skill and content. The older artists have more traditional representational, and far more skilled naturalistic artwork. The more contemporary works emerged from the artists who started working a little more recently. At least that is my observation. But it is all cool.

I would love the opportunity to possibly curate this show annually as a series. I think it definitely has some potential.

I also think that I really need to step up my studio production.

Emotional Outbursrsts and Productivity

I will begin first by expressing my unsurprised disappointment with Senate not passing the Defense Authorization Bill. As Rachel Maddow stated "Republicans, your culture war is showing." Because the Republican Party did not want to have to deal with anything which would deal with the repeal of the Don't Ask, Don't Tell(DADT) Policy, the filibustered the whole bill. Politicians cited a whole multitude of reasons why they voted No on SB 3454, but I am a little bit more taken aback by Sen. McCain blatant denial in an interview after the session denying that DADT is not used to witch-hunt homosexual soldiers out of the military, despite that Air Force Major Mike Almy was discharged under DADT for that specific reason. I think I will cease that rant there.

Correlating with my disappointment has been, in my opinion, an alarming rate of art production. Yesterday I had primed several canvases for making something interesting, or maybe inane and un-pretty. I have now before me three recently finished artworks, two of which I intend on exhibiting in November.

This past weekend, I also purchased two particle board panels. It has been one of my artistic wants to have a kitschy collage board, which I intend on making into a 4.5'-5' tall room divider. I will eventually purchase the a third panel so that this project has the base and stability to stand on its own. In the mean time. I will begin adhering different images which I find fascinating and pretty to the panels. Hopefully, it will look like the inside of an old record store with hundreds of images that have been pasted up and taken down over years. It will not necessarily have that aged look, but hopefully a similar aesthetic.

Inspiration Strikes

There is a cast relief sculpture which I have been working on for a while now. The piece emerged by accident and was spurred to fruition by sheer visual interest. It is a cast of my left arm up until the wrist. It is completely white, except for some off color pieces of plaster gauze which dried a different shade of white than the rest. It is a very cool looking piece. While I did not know what it needed to be finished except for maybe a coat of acrylic paint to even out the coloration, the artwork needed a context. I found one: The story of Sgt. Gary Yoakam. Sgt Yoakam from Ohio lost his left hand in a rocket propelled grenade attack while on patrol with Charlie Company, 3rd Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. While I am certain that there are many other injuries where soldiers have lost a left hand, Sgt Yoakam's story is the one I know, and the context which brings work of art to life.

Better late than never, or I am feeling really honored and really humbled

I needed to get a little bit more grounded and centered before I wrote on this....

Friday I had lunch with an old friend of mine from my Army days. He was one of the people I deployed with back in 2005/06. Back in November he had sent out a mass message via facebook requesting school supplies which his psychological operations teams would be passing out to struggling schools in Baghdad and the surrounding areas. Seeing an opportunity to help out, mainly because I could and I had the means to help, I forwarded the message to my friends. I asked permission to send out a similar bulletin at the elementary school where I was teaching an art class after school. The Principal gave me the green light, and asked for a message which would be published in the next school bulletin, going out to the parents. By December, I had a drop box in my classroom and little did I know that I was mobilizing a great deal of people to help out with this request. In mid-December I picked up all the supplies from everyone. I made three stops across the city, and basically filled up my car. Some of my friends who did not live near me asked for a mailing address where to send the supplies. Some people mailed me money to help cover shipping costs. When everything was collected and inventoried, I had way more school supplies than I could afford to ship all at once. I was floored. I also felt like I had maybe taken on something which was significantly bigger than myself. I figured out what I could send and slowly mailed off several boxes at a time until everything was in Baghdad.
Skip forward a few months, and we get to this past Friday. My friend wanted to take me out to eat as a "thank you" for sending so many school supplies. I told him that he did the bigger job, I would to eat with him if I could buy him a few beers. So at lunch, his girlfriend was there, and she was overseas as the Operations Sergeant for the company. At lunch as we caught up as to how much the Camp Liberty had changed and how much it hadn't. We caught up on what we were up to in our respective lives. They told me they had something else for me as a token of appreciation for having sent so many school supplies. They presented me with a certificate, and the American Flag that flew outside of the Psychological Operations Task Force-Iraq Command building. I immediately felt the corners of my eyes burn ever so slightly. I thanked them for their appreciation, for the appreciation of the 16th PSYOP Battalion. A frikkin' Battalion!!! I was fighting tooth and nail not cry all out right then and there. There is no feeling so humbling, so grand as knowing that a Battalion appreciates what you have done. I think back on it, I didn't do anything really grandiose... not on my own. I mailed needed school supplies which I stored in my workspace for months. School supplies that a large group of friends and strangers helped contribute. I didn't do it all on my own. They deserve my gratitude as well.

Arguably against my better judgment

A documentary recently caught my attention. "Restrepo" is a feature length documentary about a 15 man platoon located in the Korengal Valley of Afghanistan. It chronicles the boredom and terror that is war in conditions which very few people in the United States have to deal with, lest imagine. It is brutal and honest, and does not include the opinions and thoughts of anyone not at Restrepo. My experiences with the military can be described as "blessed" as best. I did deploy, but did not have to deal with as much crap as other soldiers. In the proverbial, implied contest of "who had it worse" I will lose to nearly any other veteran. However, I know people who did have to deal with harsher realities of war. I know what it did to them, and as a result I can empathize and relate maybe a tad well. I may not know what they went through, but I can relate. I know the movie will be fascinating and well worth it, but... do I actively seek the heartache?

Update of sorts

It has been close to a full month since my last update.
My car has broken down several times and been fixed repeatedly. It has had a multitude of issues and i think I have sank far more money into it than I care to spend. But whatever keeps it running.
I will be leading a Vet Art Project session in a few weeks. I still have not gotten the materials completely ready yet. I should be staining construction paper this week. The seminar I will be leading deals with the paranoiac critical, subconscious exploration (to use a different term). I might have to ask for more oil pastels for people to work with since I only have so many materials at home.
I attended a tattoo expo and gleaned new ideas and new insights as far as what artwork I want to put on my body, as well as what artwork other people want me to design for them. I promised a friend of mine a design last year and I have yet to come through with a coherent plan. Ideas however do not blossom overnight.
In the realm of fitness, I am still struggling with what can best be described as involuntary exercise bulimia. I had mentioned before that my elected workout routine prompts weight loss which could be detrimental to my health in the long term. I'm generally healthy, but I would not necessarily label myself "fit" in spite of other people's assessments. I'm still trying to find a balance. In my efforts, I have determined almonds, sunflower seed nuts, and peanuts are crucial.
Lastly, my studio space has been reorganized. I am still struggling to find a balance between organized presentable storage and production, and usually when i reorganize everything, I teeter too far into either realm. I haven't had a productive binge as of late. However I have found that my culinary skills as a home maker are actually pretty good.

Veteran Portrait

I have been doing some work with the Vet Art Project in Chicago. One of the artists, Jeanine Hill-Soldner who I had worked with before at a previous Vet Art Project Meeting, asked me as well as several other veterans if We would like to pose for a portrait series she has been working on. How could I say no. Seriously. We exchanged information, and she will be getting in touch with me about when I can drive up to Crystal Lake to pose and have my picture painted.

Reconnecting with blogger

By virtue of google having their paws in almost everything internet, I have dug up and dusted off this old nag of a blog. I had started this back when I was in Baghdad Iraq, but generally -e-mail and my livejournal account became my most prolific, and now most well documented blogging.

In the past 5 years since I first started this blog, I have finished college with a BFA in Art Education, gotten out of the military, grown my hair and a beard, Donated said hair once and am growing another batch, and am teaching an after school art program because the the economy fellates and I can't get a regular teaching job because they are being cut cross country.

Dreamscape

I have been having a series of dreams that in some ways resemble the locations that I have dreamt before. It seems that the geography of my dreams is coalescing and taking shape. It seems to be asort of amalgam of my home town in mexico, hawaiian mointains, beaches, military instalations, my grandparent's ranch and surrounding hills. There are volitile elements such as two volcanos that are always aflame, and always spewing forth lava. The military instalation seems no more than a rowdy fraternity of people who pick on the younger and lwer ranking for fun. There is a field of lava and burning pits of sulfur that is the ruins of a part of town I do not recall. I have yet to find a coalesced significance of all the elements, except the places from my childhodd being nostalgic as well as grusome. I did have two distinct dreams I recall. One of them a man cut several deep gashes accross my face and my family did not recognize me. Another one, the volcano erupted more violently than usual and it wrecked the town.
Other seemingly unrealted dreams, or at least that the geography thereof have not taken part in the dreamsphere I have also shaken me.
I had one dream where I was back home after some time in physical therapy. I was missing both my legs and I was at a gathering. It was what seemed like a welcome home party. There was an ex-girlfriend-now-friend who was there and apparently coordinated the whole thing. It seemed to be taking place in an upstairs appartment or second floor of a house. It had elements of a thrift store but with more flair. Eventually at some people left. There were other people who were telling me how brave I was and how I was a hero. I thought about how I would not be able to do cartwheels and dance the same way again. Eventually I guess I had a flare up of pain. I asked for aspirin, or tylenol, or something. found myself standing a bit unsteadily with my forehead pressed against a wall. My eyes were clenched in pain. I opened them up took a breath and I was against the outside south wall of my best friend's house in the town where we bth spent a greater portion of our lives. It was damp out. I unsteadily walked back to my old house and awoke.
I believe this dream is pertinent to my being in Baghdad and all. I figure if something does happen, I'll get over it. Eventually

The Colour and The Feeling

Last night I had a dream about my work back civilian side. I was coming in to say farewell to my coworkers and the place was decorated with many colored plastic pieces shaped like fish in the ocean, pastel and neon colored paintings of the American flag all transitioning like a psychedelic colored exhibit in a museum. Upon seeing it, and my boss, I lost all manner of composure. There was Vicki, Angela, Kathy, Lynn, Cori, Mark, and Ditdynai, Sapan, and Irene present at a table with a dinner laid out. It seemed like a cross between a children’s exhibit and a kindergarten classroom. I felt embarrassed that I was emotional, and that I had to part ways with these wonderful people. Afterward, I found myself at a dock like region by the ocean. There seemed to be all manner of activity and I was out in the middle of the water patrolling back and forth. It was dark and I was alone for the most part.
I suppose that this dream is an indication of how lonely I think I may be. I did have a somber and depressive period a few weeks back, and there are some things that just are not helping. It does not help that I have done some studies on this very common disorder and what are some of the traits. I also know when it will be considered clinical. This is going against a very strong recommendation against self-diagnosis. There was a funny sort of incident that occurred a few days back. I am working on transferring to a section of the company that works on cultural symbols and such. The supervisor for the section thinks highly of me, at least in some aspects. I am working on my Art Education Degree and she considers me to have a broad grasp of understanding in the humanities field. She called me a “practically a humanities genius”. I declined the title, and she replied “Is it because they haven’t included your name at the sperm bank?” We all had a good laugh over that.It is flattering to hear that sort of thing every once in a while. Just knowing every so often that someone thinks of you in a positive manner feels good.

The Duality of a Would-Be Warrior

I have been concerning myself with the charities available to wounded soldiers from the GWOT. I feel that they are so much more than I am, and I admire them for their sacrifice, almost to the point of wishing for an injury myself. It is a sort of brand marking them as people who have met a challenge far above what the rest of us can even begin to fathom. I see them and admire their courage and perseverance. I admire their adaptability. I admire what they do to make so many people, who have been thrown into the metaphorical meat grinder and have survived though not unscathed, have a better existence. They are heroes on another level, and in their own minds they probably do not think they are anything special. In my mind I don’t think I am anything special. They have many people who applaud their efforts and some of the strides some of them make for their brothers in arms. Many people applaud me for just being here and having the balls to do what I do without running away from my duties. There are soldier so much more remarkable than myself. There are people so much more remarkable than myself. Why do people pay heed to me anyway?
It is a strange thing that I feel I am here and I am failing. I fully realize that it may be my own expectations, and desire for an untattainable perfection, or standard of excellence that I will never meet. I just feel I am so far behind the power curve of where I am at, and where I perceive I should be in concurrence. It is my interpretaton of a presedent set by our forebears, a standard that I feel is slacking, and I am no exception either.
At what point is my self-criticism going too far, and what point am right?

A day in the life and the beggining of a new document of my life

I am a fan of blogs based simply on the fact that I can rat on every little thing that comes accross my mind. Unfortunately right noe I cannot claim to be too pleased. I am here in Baghdad in a small little trailer in the middle of nowhere in particular, not far from where God lost his left shoe and decided to just make himself a new one. It is far from all the comforts of home and all the people that I really truly care for. Ofcourse, they are the reason I am here, indirectly so. I would rather go through this than have them suffer some of things I have suffered. While it is a great experience and defintely a new way to grow, and I think that growth and devlopment and seeing the world are important, I think there are ways more adviceable than the military, or at least as my current mood dictates, there are better ways than the military to see the world.
I am feeling a bit melancholy for the simplest reason being I miss home, probably more now than I did a month ago. I feel needed but I just don't feel I fit in well. I ponder at how long I have been here and how I still am such a humanist, and essentially, the same emotional me that I have been for the longest time, and maintained what most people would call sanity. I have maintianed a cool head, which is difficult to do in the desert and even more so in a war zone. I just do not feel like I belong here. My mentality and my beliefs are not entirely concurrent with those of my teammates, or at least not in the past few months that I have known them.
I base this mainly at the sort of language they use, and what they talk about, what they fear and what they laugh at. There are a lot of things to laugh about,but it is not so much what they laugh at but how that is most telling of this difference of beliefs, and values.
Though quite frankly I do not know what sanity is, otherwise would I be here in Baghdad? Yes by choice, I joined the military, and thus by choice put myself in the situation. However it was an order to go and my compliance with such that I am here. If I had things my way, I would be working back at my summer job, passing time with my friends, and remodeling my bedroom on the weekends. Instead I am in charge of the logistics here at my unit, and am learning to swallow an ocean one gulp at a time. Is stream of conciousness fun or what?
My access to web related parafanelia is very limited so I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could create a new blog to put down my thoughts.
There are a few thing that I have learned while being away are:
-to appreciate that no matter how far away you are from someone, you will be their shinning star, and the timing you have to brighten their day and turn a bad mood trancends continental boundaries
-your shining star will likewise know what to say to help you through the tough times, and shed new light on a problem
-never trust someone to help you relax, you better do it yourself or you will be vomitting long after you think you would have finished
-Just having the ability to keep going a bit longer than others will give them the strength to keep moving on.
Until I return....