Easy, Breezy Day.

Hi Guys and Gals!

As my title says, today was easy and breezy. Work was slow yet whimsical. I think I had the most fun today at work than any other time while working for the man. We giggled, sang, and laughed the entire time I was there. I think the majority of employees were in such a silly mood, it was infectious.

The closing went well. Quite a bit of paper work to go through. The final appraisal was about 10,000 dollars less than the original. This didn't hurt too bad, but still it was a pisser. It doesn't matter. The deal closed. We will have a better mortgage company, shittier rate, but at least all our credit cards will be paid off, we will finish the bathroom, get Mucky spayed ( so she can stop pissing and shitting where ever she bloody feels like), and increase our savings and insurance policies. Oh, we can also get started putting back for Ireland.

So, that's all that I have except for the 12 y/o boy who got lost in the woods in South Carolina, I think it was. Of all the things, his dad was worried because the kid has ADD, and didn't have his meds. What?!!!! Are we seriously classifying ADD as life threatening as Diabetes, heart conditions, or Asthma? I'm glad the kid was found, but come on. Leave it alone, Yokai!!!

Now, where to go next with my Iraq experience. I think I mentioned I am a "dead eye." I was not a phenomenal soldier. Nor was I at the peak of my physical and mental capacity. I was a wreck. I mean I was as chipper as could be considering, but let's face it. I was going to war. Regardless of how I felt, or what I wanted.

I think it's important to touch on one more thing before I go on. My previous unit in the Netherlands, we, well, we were a dysfunctional family. We could have conversations without speaking. We were the Intel guys in the sharp suits and outfits. Don't get me wrong. We were sick fucks, and we play mind games on each other. Most importantly, I couldn't have thought of any better people to go to war with. I wasn't so lucky with my new unit. It was 3 months before anyone actually acknowledged that I was a thinking being. I was just a "female" soldier. A "strategic" female soldier who was girly. I didn't have a 300 PT score (a perfect score) I couldn't run with the male soldiers, carry as much weight, ruck as long/far, I didn't want to be hardcore. I really just wanted to finish my enlistment and get the hell out. I guess, everyone there wanted to be there. They wanted to be seen as equal or even better than the person next to them. A female, you had to slack up on the feminism while in uniform or you just weren't as good as a male. Of course this is never said. It will never be admitted, but you can feel it. You can smell it. It aches in your bones, and pulls at your soul. Even the female soldiers saw me as just "one of those" female soldiers. I guess that's why I was such a wreck. The mental damage was done when I stepped onto the fort. It was done without a single word being said.

Happy part of this is after week out in the desert of Washington State, I build a bond with four of the toughest girls I have ever met. I keep in contact with two now. They are back in Iraq as contractors. They're doing good things. I don't care what the critics say. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to create a work of art. Childbirth is painful, it ugly, and disgusting. Amazingly no one complains after that sweet and precious baby is born. I digress. I learned much from them. With there help, I made it out of Iraq.

When I got to Iraq, my Platoon Sgt met my team. She hugged me, and handed me SGT rank. She also told me to get ready. I might be taking a team of my own. She just had no idea what her prediction meant.

More to come,

Good night,

I am open to the guidance
of synchronicity, and don not let
expectations hinder my path.

--Dalai Lama

Yokai