24 September 2003

Minneapolis. Still no word on anything. I keep adding to the question list, but there’s no opportunity to get any answers. Perhaps once Craig returns from Washington tomorrow he’ll have a little more knowledge of the situation. I ordered seven months of prescription medication today. I’ll need a huge bottle of Ibuprofen as well.

Craig did call later. Says that I need to report to the CRC (CONUS (Continental United States) Replacement Centers) in Winchester next Wednesday at 08:00 for Kevlar vest and gas mask fittings. My response was, “fuck”. I hope that didn’t offend him (but he’ll need to be thicker skinned than that to hang with the soldiery). I hope I can get back in time for the Queens of the Stone Age show that night. In addition, Craig says that Foster ships out this Saturday, Craig with a few others the next Saturday, and myself with three or four others the Saturday after that, 11 October. We’ll fly to Kuwait, and then take a military transport into Baghdad.

And then there’s the wife. She told me, I think for the last time, that “you’re not going to Iraq”. Most of this is denial and hope based in the fact that some international work just doesn’t materialize. Mostly, she gets very quiet whenever the subject is raised. I imagine she thinks I’ll get blowed up or whacked or seriously injured somehow. I’m sure every soldier’s spouse feels the same way. The primary difference between they and me is that being in the military is their job, and for me it’s just an adventure, a mid-life crisis perhaps, an excuse to do something more interesting than sitting in this cube.