Before I get started, I want to thank you for actually reading this. Not only am I using these entries as an outlet, I am also doing it to practice my writing. Once upon a time I used to do quite a lot of it and I was actually fairly decent at it. I'm hoping that by writing more and more of these I actually improve my writing ability and get better at presenting imagery through words. I'm not necessarily looking for critique, but if you see something I could do better at (or actually think I am decent) then I would not mind the message. Now back to the entry at hand.
As I am writing this I have my feet in a wash tub with water and epsom salt. With the extra time I have been pushing at the gym, I have really been feeling the soreness lately. I actually went and got a massage the other week and felt pretty darn good afterwards, but I cant exactly afford to go and do one of those a week or anything. Epsom salt is one of the things I was given suggested to try, hence why I am giving it a try. The reason I only have my feet soaking and not going straight to a full body bath, is because of a story mom mom told me.
Apparently my grandpa was allergic to epsom salt but did not know it. He had some rash going on his leg or arm (can't remember which) so he did an epsom soak. And the rash only got worse. Pretty sure he did it a couple times and things only got progressively worse. He ended up talking to someone else in pharmacology and they pointed out to him that he was probably allergic to epsom. So he stopped doing it, and soon enough the rash was completely gone. My mom has never tested it out so she was not sure if she is allergic or not, but I guess I will soon enough.
One of the main things I have been working on recently is my flexibility, and also heavy leg days. Those two REALLY don't match up too well as the extra muscle mass makes mobility tough. If the Epsom does its job, then some of the extra tightness and soreness should be a thing of the past and make it easier for me to go harder, which in turn will probably make me even more sore and make it feel like this stuff does nothing at all. And the cycle of the gym continues. So 20 minutes of typing and distractions later I just pulled my feet out and I don't see anything crazy. I'll post an amendment should it be needed.....
Friday, May 17, 2019
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Breaking SGT Smith....
Sorry Smith.... but this story needs to be told.
So with many jobs, before you start or maybe even at some point while you are working there, you may be required to go pee in a cup. Most of the time you get to walk into a bathroom, do your thing and then put the cup into a window in the wall, then go about your business. The Army - in their infinite wisdom - does things quite a bit different.
I have always found it funny how soldiers can be trusted to sign for equipment that is valued at hundreds, thousands, or even millions of dollars, but cannot be trusted to have a toaster in their barracks room. As sad as it is though - plenty of examples to prove it - there is a good portion of soldiers who could not be trusted to go into that room and pee in a cup by themselves without using some fancy doodad to get some fake pee or something else along those lines.
So that being said we get to have these fun powwows called a Urinalysis. "Individuals in this unit have been selected on a random or 100% basis for drug testing. There is no probable cause or reasonable suspicion that anyone in the unit is using or abusing drugs or a controlled substance." *cough* *cough* sure *cough*. Everyone meets up in a room too small for the amount of people called, gets a brief (because what Army event could happen without one) on what they already know is about to happen, and then gets held there until they have been able to get through the line of people trying to pee in a tiny bathroom while someone peers over their shoulder.
I should amend this to say I can only speak for what happens for males during a urinalysis as I have never been part of the female portion of the testing.
Hopefully stage fright is not a thing for you, but their are many ways to move things along. As an "observer" I have turned in the water, dimmed the lights, sang a song, and even let someone sit down on the toilet to go when they worried they were going to shit their pants. At the end of the day though, the sanctity of the urinalysis must be maintained! Thinking back though, I'm pretty sure the song thing just made things worse, but I was just trying to help.
For some reason though when I was actually getting tested, that it would be a great idea to try and mess with the observers. One cannot question if its really you filling the cup if your pants are all the way to the ground, so why not just go ahead and make their job easier? If you were not already aware, let me state the fact that I have no shame. I'm not sure exactly WHY I decided to go as far as I did the one time, but I am pretty sure Smith probably still is scarred emotionally from this. I know I apologized earlier, but.... sorry.
For sure this is was funnier for people who were there to experience it, or who know Smith, but I'll try my best to explain. The latrine is an open bay area with 2 (3??) urinals side by side. Most observers would stand off to the side and maintain a view on you and the cup. My "no-pants" testing methods was well known and accepted, and even replicated within the unit. So what happens when something excessive becomes almost the norm? That's right - you have to go another step. Shirt completely off - check. Pants all the way to the ankles and waddling over to the urinal - check. Turning and looking over my shoulder and staring into Sgt. Smith's eye while I finish giving my sample and rubbing a nipple with my finger - .... check. Watching as he nearly breaks in this situation - check. That was probably an unnecessary additional step, but it seemed a good idea at the time. I don't remember exactly what Bell did, but I know not long after I went he pulled a similar maneuver that was met with a similar response.
Funny enough, one of my last acts in the Army was a urinalysis. While we were at the yearly training event, the Battalion had one, and somehow I ended up an an observer. Don't think I went easy on those guys just because they were not part of our company. Rules still apply and I hope I made things as awkward as possible for a handful of them during that process. The final person who went through my line was actually the Sergeant Major. I did let him know about the "C Company policy" but he declined.
Good times.....
So with many jobs, before you start or maybe even at some point while you are working there, you may be required to go pee in a cup. Most of the time you get to walk into a bathroom, do your thing and then put the cup into a window in the wall, then go about your business. The Army - in their infinite wisdom - does things quite a bit different.
I have always found it funny how soldiers can be trusted to sign for equipment that is valued at hundreds, thousands, or even millions of dollars, but cannot be trusted to have a toaster in their barracks room. As sad as it is though - plenty of examples to prove it - there is a good portion of soldiers who could not be trusted to go into that room and pee in a cup by themselves without using some fancy doodad to get some fake pee or something else along those lines.
So that being said we get to have these fun powwows called a Urinalysis. "Individuals in this unit have been selected on a random or 100% basis for drug testing. There is no probable cause or reasonable suspicion that anyone in the unit is using or abusing drugs or a controlled substance." *cough* *cough* sure *cough*. Everyone meets up in a room too small for the amount of people called, gets a brief (because what Army event could happen without one) on what they already know is about to happen, and then gets held there until they have been able to get through the line of people trying to pee in a tiny bathroom while someone peers over their shoulder.
I should amend this to say I can only speak for what happens for males during a urinalysis as I have never been part of the female portion of the testing.
Hopefully stage fright is not a thing for you, but their are many ways to move things along. As an "observer" I have turned in the water, dimmed the lights, sang a song, and even let someone sit down on the toilet to go when they worried they were going to shit their pants. At the end of the day though, the sanctity of the urinalysis must be maintained! Thinking back though, I'm pretty sure the song thing just made things worse, but I was just trying to help.
For some reason though when I was actually getting tested, that it would be a great idea to try and mess with the observers. One cannot question if its really you filling the cup if your pants are all the way to the ground, so why not just go ahead and make their job easier? If you were not already aware, let me state the fact that I have no shame. I'm not sure exactly WHY I decided to go as far as I did the one time, but I am pretty sure Smith probably still is scarred emotionally from this. I know I apologized earlier, but.... sorry.
For sure this is was funnier for people who were there to experience it, or who know Smith, but I'll try my best to explain. The latrine is an open bay area with 2 (3??) urinals side by side. Most observers would stand off to the side and maintain a view on you and the cup. My "no-pants" testing methods was well known and accepted, and even replicated within the unit. So what happens when something excessive becomes almost the norm? That's right - you have to go another step. Shirt completely off - check. Pants all the way to the ankles and waddling over to the urinal - check. Turning and looking over my shoulder and staring into Sgt. Smith's eye while I finish giving my sample and rubbing a nipple with my finger - .... check. Watching as he nearly breaks in this situation - check. That was probably an unnecessary additional step, but it seemed a good idea at the time. I don't remember exactly what Bell did, but I know not long after I went he pulled a similar maneuver that was met with a similar response.
Funny enough, one of my last acts in the Army was a urinalysis. While we were at the yearly training event, the Battalion had one, and somehow I ended up an an observer. Don't think I went easy on those guys just because they were not part of our company. Rules still apply and I hope I made things as awkward as possible for a handful of them during that process. The final person who went through my line was actually the Sergeant Major. I did let him know about the "C Company policy" but he declined.
Good times.....
Saturday, May 11, 2019
it's not fair to flare
Most people know I spent a few years as a bartender through college, afterwards, and leading up to when I went into the Army. One of those spots I worked at was TGI Fridays in Dearborn. I was there for about a year. Fridays was always one of those places that emphasized flare in bartending, and going way back to when I first say the movie Cocktail I always thought that stuff was super cool. Problem was really the bar at the Dearborn place was nowhere near setup to do any of the cool tricks or anything. You could barely walk sideways between the well and the center cabinets let along try and pass behind a different bartender or flip some bottles. So I never really did much in front of customers or where the other co-workers could see.
I bought a bunch of fake bottles, practice tins, and all those kinds of stuff and I must have been spending an hour+ per day watching flare videos and practicing tossing bottles and coming up with cool routines.Christian Delpech (Google him - some pretty sweet videos) was the guy I tried to mimic. Not just in his flare ability, but in his mannerisms. It was a pretty interesting thing. I had always been fairly reserved, kind of shy and introverted. There were the occasional moments where I liked to be the center of attention, but they were few and very far between. Thats just who "Christian" always was - is. But when I was behind the bar I got to be a different me. When I was working at Fridays, I started having people call me CJ. It's the nickname my Aunt and cousins have always used for me, but it works well for a bar as yelling that across the room is better than a lot of names. Names aside though, being CJ allowed me to be someone else. A more outgoing version of myself that drew attention from some people that probably would have never looked at Christian twice. That was an interesting realization.
So the flare practice kept going, mostly in secret as I would either practice in the backyard of the house I was renting a room at, or sometimes in the living room when people were gone and watch the flare DVDs I had. Outside was nice because it muffled the sound of dropping bottles or tins, and I could actually use the glass bottles too instead of just the hard plastic practice ones. Fridays always has a bartender championship for every store, then region, and so on, all the way to world championships in Vegas I think. No I know I was WAY off from getting there, but I knew I was the only one who gave a shit at my store, and I thought I would stand a chance come the regional ones. I didn't know exactly what all we were going to be tested on, but I knew there was a certain time frames for the drink/flare portion and that we had to go through all the steps from greeting and taking orders, to making the drinks and serving with the show being the big portion. I got to work on coming up with a routine, and found a few songs to play and actually choreographed my moves to hit at certain points of the songs. I was all in. The whole time though, there was one move I was trying to do, that I NEVER hit in practice. Until the day before of course - It was like something out of a bad movie or TV show.
I honestly don't remember the store competition, but I know I won it. Pretty much by default though I think. Then we get to the pain point - the morning test. I knew somewhat that we were going to be tested on the menu. What I DIDNT know, is that there were going to be questions about how many ounces of pasta are in this dish, or what spices go in this.... it was like a test for the cooks! And I BOMBED it. If I got a single question right on that, I would be shocked. I was pretty devastated, but eventually that was over and there was a break before the flare portion started. It was cool that I had a few coworkers show up to support me, and my dad was there too. When the flare contest begins, the order is either one of two things, I've never really known. Either it was in alphabetical order, or in the order of how people did in the morning testing - either was I was dead last. Boy did that turn out to be a good thing though, because I got to watch all the other people do their shows. And it made me realize something - none of them knew what the fuck they were doing..... None of them had anything planned, no sets, no sequences worked up. They didnt have anything special ready when greeting the judges. Even the song choices were bland and did nothing to improve the look of what they were doing. I knew with how poorly I had done on the testing that I really didnt have a chance, but after watching them go, it no longer became about winning or not - it really did become about owning the fucking room.
Had this been 2016 instead of 2006, there would be some video evidence to prove this statement - but boy did I ever. From the napkin spin onto the back of my hand and then placing it down on the bar as I greeted the judges, to the first bottle pull that I tossed and caught behind my back without looking, I knew nobody there had any idea what they were about to see. I nailed those first two drinks - not a flaw in any aspect of what I was doing, and I made eye contact with enough of the room to know the only reason some of them were not clapping or cheering, was because they couldn't pull their jaws off the ground. And then we get to that movement I talked about. The one I only landed for the first time the day before? Yeah - didn't happen this time. My one and only drop. Sure the other competitors had a handful and they were barely even taking their hands off the bottles, but this was my moment - and the one I will never forget. I picked it back up and hit spot, finished the drink and ended my routine, but I knew it was not what I could have been.
Here is why this moment is one I can never let go of. I got 2nd overall. I can't get into the whatif over the AM testing - there is no reason to. I had nothing going into that and nothing I did differently would have changed the fact that I just did not know what was on that test. But what if I didn't drop the bottle? Was the penalty on that one enough that dropped down to 2nd? What if I had gone first instead of last? Did the other competitors get better scores than they deserved because they had nothing to judge it against yet? In the end that ended up being my one and only flare competition. I worked a few other bars after that, but none that really gave me that same feeling as when I was doing that. I think about picking up the flare stuff and practicing from time to time, but I never do. Its an interesting thing to think if I had won it though - gone to the next level and probably got my ass handed to me by people who could out "showman" me. That I could deal with, that probably would have been the motivation that I needed to push and go beyond what I did. Instead I pretty much gave up - at least thats what it feels like. And that.... I'm not ok with.
I bought a bunch of fake bottles, practice tins, and all those kinds of stuff and I must have been spending an hour+ per day watching flare videos and practicing tossing bottles and coming up with cool routines.Christian Delpech (Google him - some pretty sweet videos) was the guy I tried to mimic. Not just in his flare ability, but in his mannerisms. It was a pretty interesting thing. I had always been fairly reserved, kind of shy and introverted. There were the occasional moments where I liked to be the center of attention, but they were few and very far between. Thats just who "Christian" always was - is. But when I was behind the bar I got to be a different me. When I was working at Fridays, I started having people call me CJ. It's the nickname my Aunt and cousins have always used for me, but it works well for a bar as yelling that across the room is better than a lot of names. Names aside though, being CJ allowed me to be someone else. A more outgoing version of myself that drew attention from some people that probably would have never looked at Christian twice. That was an interesting realization.
So the flare practice kept going, mostly in secret as I would either practice in the backyard of the house I was renting a room at, or sometimes in the living room when people were gone and watch the flare DVDs I had. Outside was nice because it muffled the sound of dropping bottles or tins, and I could actually use the glass bottles too instead of just the hard plastic practice ones. Fridays always has a bartender championship for every store, then region, and so on, all the way to world championships in Vegas I think. No I know I was WAY off from getting there, but I knew I was the only one who gave a shit at my store, and I thought I would stand a chance come the regional ones. I didn't know exactly what all we were going to be tested on, but I knew there was a certain time frames for the drink/flare portion and that we had to go through all the steps from greeting and taking orders, to making the drinks and serving with the show being the big portion. I got to work on coming up with a routine, and found a few songs to play and actually choreographed my moves to hit at certain points of the songs. I was all in. The whole time though, there was one move I was trying to do, that I NEVER hit in practice. Until the day before of course - It was like something out of a bad movie or TV show.
I honestly don't remember the store competition, but I know I won it. Pretty much by default though I think. Then we get to the pain point - the morning test. I knew somewhat that we were going to be tested on the menu. What I DIDNT know, is that there were going to be questions about how many ounces of pasta are in this dish, or what spices go in this.... it was like a test for the cooks! And I BOMBED it. If I got a single question right on that, I would be shocked. I was pretty devastated, but eventually that was over and there was a break before the flare portion started. It was cool that I had a few coworkers show up to support me, and my dad was there too. When the flare contest begins, the order is either one of two things, I've never really known. Either it was in alphabetical order, or in the order of how people did in the morning testing - either was I was dead last. Boy did that turn out to be a good thing though, because I got to watch all the other people do their shows. And it made me realize something - none of them knew what the fuck they were doing..... None of them had anything planned, no sets, no sequences worked up. They didnt have anything special ready when greeting the judges. Even the song choices were bland and did nothing to improve the look of what they were doing. I knew with how poorly I had done on the testing that I really didnt have a chance, but after watching them go, it no longer became about winning or not - it really did become about owning the fucking room.
Had this been 2016 instead of 2006, there would be some video evidence to prove this statement - but boy did I ever. From the napkin spin onto the back of my hand and then placing it down on the bar as I greeted the judges, to the first bottle pull that I tossed and caught behind my back without looking, I knew nobody there had any idea what they were about to see. I nailed those first two drinks - not a flaw in any aspect of what I was doing, and I made eye contact with enough of the room to know the only reason some of them were not clapping or cheering, was because they couldn't pull their jaws off the ground. And then we get to that movement I talked about. The one I only landed for the first time the day before? Yeah - didn't happen this time. My one and only drop. Sure the other competitors had a handful and they were barely even taking their hands off the bottles, but this was my moment - and the one I will never forget. I picked it back up and hit spot, finished the drink and ended my routine, but I knew it was not what I could have been.
Here is why this moment is one I can never let go of. I got 2nd overall. I can't get into the whatif over the AM testing - there is no reason to. I had nothing going into that and nothing I did differently would have changed the fact that I just did not know what was on that test. But what if I didn't drop the bottle? Was the penalty on that one enough that dropped down to 2nd? What if I had gone first instead of last? Did the other competitors get better scores than they deserved because they had nothing to judge it against yet? In the end that ended up being my one and only flare competition. I worked a few other bars after that, but none that really gave me that same feeling as when I was doing that. I think about picking up the flare stuff and practicing from time to time, but I never do. Its an interesting thing to think if I had won it though - gone to the next level and probably got my ass handed to me by people who could out "showman" me. That I could deal with, that probably would have been the motivation that I needed to push and go beyond what I did. Instead I pretty much gave up - at least thats what it feels like. And that.... I'm not ok with.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
wait....weights?
So I was trying to remember when exactly it was that I first got a gym membership. I know it was the summer before 8th grade that I picked up a dumbbell with the intent of actually work out. I had decided I wanted to join the wrestling team in High School (still a bummer there were no ropes to run off of or turnbuckles to dive off of) and at this time I was still 70lbs and like 4'9". Yeah I was basically see through I was so small. I know 5th graders who are taller/weighed more than I did then. ANYWAY, this entry is not about that. In wrestling we had the weight room some mornings before school so I know I started to learn some stuff then, and I can't remember what year it was but we ended up getting a Bowflex for the house too. James would come over some evenings and we would work out in a room small enough that I could probably stand in the middle and touch all 4 walls now.
Then we move on to college where Western Michigan had one of the most amazing gyms I have even been to. And it was free. And I probably went like 3 times in 4 years. Because of stupid video games. Sometimes I wonder if I had gone more and gotten into fitness and nutrition way back then, how different would things be now. Changes major? Working in the exercise science field? Maybe just have at least a couple of muscles on my body during college? I think it would be not long after college though, that I got my first membership at Bally's which would later get converted to an LA Fitness. What I am not sure about though, is why. I barely went, never took it seriously, and certainly was not eating very well. But then we get to the last few months before I go into the Army. I actually had a trainer and he was kicking my ass and getting me pretty well prepared to go in. I would not necessarily say I was in good shape or taking it seriously, but it was the first time I found myself enjoying it.
I went to the gym some during the time leading up to deployment when I was in the Army, but I certainly never really took things seriously. It was not until we were in Afghanistan and I started working out a bit, and then eventually getting taken under Kerr's wing did I actually see some changes and realize how fun it was. Fast forward nearly 10 years (wow.....) and it can't help be one of those "If I knew then what I know now" situations. What bug me now though, is that through all the efforts I have made, and all the changes I have seen, I have never actually taken it as seriously as I thought I was. Thats a whole different matter though. And a topic for another day.
Then we move on to college where Western Michigan had one of the most amazing gyms I have even been to. And it was free. And I probably went like 3 times in 4 years. Because of stupid video games. Sometimes I wonder if I had gone more and gotten into fitness and nutrition way back then, how different would things be now. Changes major? Working in the exercise science field? Maybe just have at least a couple of muscles on my body during college? I think it would be not long after college though, that I got my first membership at Bally's which would later get converted to an LA Fitness. What I am not sure about though, is why. I barely went, never took it seriously, and certainly was not eating very well. But then we get to the last few months before I go into the Army. I actually had a trainer and he was kicking my ass and getting me pretty well prepared to go in. I would not necessarily say I was in good shape or taking it seriously, but it was the first time I found myself enjoying it.
I went to the gym some during the time leading up to deployment when I was in the Army, but I certainly never really took things seriously. It was not until we were in Afghanistan and I started working out a bit, and then eventually getting taken under Kerr's wing did I actually see some changes and realize how fun it was. Fast forward nearly 10 years (wow.....) and it can't help be one of those "If I knew then what I know now" situations. What bug me now though, is that through all the efforts I have made, and all the changes I have seen, I have never actually taken it as seriously as I thought I was. Thats a whole different matter though. And a topic for another day.
Friday, May 3, 2019
13
So when I was getting ready to start this journal, an Army buddy gave me the suggestion to reminisce (spelled that wrong 4 times before using auto correct) about some of the good times in the reserve unit. Looking back I really do regret getting out now. Sure the monthly drill always seemed to fall on the least convenient weekend, but I had more than my fair share of good times, learned from some excellent NCO (and lower enlisted too - yes Army, it is capable to learn from people with a rank lower than yours....) and had some excellent soldiers under me who genuinely enjoyed their job and were good at it too.
I came into the reserve unit having taken 3 months off - maxing my terminal leave from active duty - so when I first reported I definitely felt a bit lost. For anyone who has done the transition, its a strange things going from active to reserve/guard where the Army is no longer the all encompassing thing in your life. My first real opportunity to connect with the unit, and also teach a lesson that stuck around, was when we had a radio etiquette class in the first or second drill I was there for. Deploying with an artillery unit will engrave the need to know what you are saying over comms quite well, and what NOT to say - like REPEAT. I think it was just a balled up piece of paper and to can't remember who my target was, but I remember I hit them with the ball pretty good to start the class. Every time the word REPEAT was said, I threw it back at them. Didn't take long for it to become a bit of a joke, but the lesson was also pretty well received.
From there though came the real "pièce de résistance" that I brought to the unit. Some of you may have seen my posts - or other people posting on my page - with just the simple number 13. Quick punishment in the Army is usually achieved with some pushups, and in this case it does refer to 13 pushups. One of the things I had in common with a bunch of my soldiers and other people in the unit was the love of hockey. In 2013, Pavel Datsyuk was still King in Detroit and a fan favorite. The number 13 works because it not too much where it is going to take a ton of time to complete, but its also not too few where you can just drop and get it done without feeling it. "Datsyuk" and eventually just "13" became to the go-to in response to simple poor decisions, statements, or things like that. I always felt like it bridged a good gap between staying lighthearted but also being a worthy response in a lot of situations.
It ended up taking on a life of its own and even my guys started coming up with their own spins on it, like the "Crosby" where you had to do 87 pushups while crying or flopping the whole time, or the "Lidstrom" where you had to do 5 perfect pushups, while 5 other people stood over you while confirming the perfection - Nicklas Lidstrom's nickname was the perfect human - and quite a few others. For a while it was just calling out random hockey players name and you would have to push their jersey number. In the end though, "Datsyuk" and "13" were the only ones that stuck. Its still funny all these years removed from the unit now to see opportunities to send the number to someone else or see them send it to me. The joke in the Army is that there are smart soldiers, and there are strong soldiers. I definitely had quite a few smart ones, but after all those pushups, they definitely had some strength too.
.... come to think of it, I have quite a few good stories that I can go into. Hunting ghosts at Muskatatuck. My actions during urinalysis's (I don't feel that is correct...). Motor pool adventures.... I think I will have to come back to this one again.
I came into the reserve unit having taken 3 months off - maxing my terminal leave from active duty - so when I first reported I definitely felt a bit lost. For anyone who has done the transition, its a strange things going from active to reserve/guard where the Army is no longer the all encompassing thing in your life. My first real opportunity to connect with the unit, and also teach a lesson that stuck around, was when we had a radio etiquette class in the first or second drill I was there for. Deploying with an artillery unit will engrave the need to know what you are saying over comms quite well, and what NOT to say - like REPEAT. I think it was just a balled up piece of paper and to can't remember who my target was, but I remember I hit them with the ball pretty good to start the class. Every time the word REPEAT was said, I threw it back at them. Didn't take long for it to become a bit of a joke, but the lesson was also pretty well received.
From there though came the real "pièce de résistance" that I brought to the unit. Some of you may have seen my posts - or other people posting on my page - with just the simple number 13. Quick punishment in the Army is usually achieved with some pushups, and in this case it does refer to 13 pushups. One of the things I had in common with a bunch of my soldiers and other people in the unit was the love of hockey. In 2013, Pavel Datsyuk was still King in Detroit and a fan favorite. The number 13 works because it not too much where it is going to take a ton of time to complete, but its also not too few where you can just drop and get it done without feeling it. "Datsyuk" and eventually just "13" became to the go-to in response to simple poor decisions, statements, or things like that. I always felt like it bridged a good gap between staying lighthearted but also being a worthy response in a lot of situations.
It ended up taking on a life of its own and even my guys started coming up with their own spins on it, like the "Crosby" where you had to do 87 pushups while crying or flopping the whole time, or the "Lidstrom" where you had to do 5 perfect pushups, while 5 other people stood over you while confirming the perfection - Nicklas Lidstrom's nickname was the perfect human - and quite a few others. For a while it was just calling out random hockey players name and you would have to push their jersey number. In the end though, "Datsyuk" and "13" were the only ones that stuck. Its still funny all these years removed from the unit now to see opportunities to send the number to someone else or see them send it to me. The joke in the Army is that there are smart soldiers, and there are strong soldiers. I definitely had quite a few smart ones, but after all those pushups, they definitely had some strength too.
.... come to think of it, I have quite a few good stories that I can go into. Hunting ghosts at Muskatatuck. My actions during urinalysis's (I don't feel that is correct...). Motor pool adventures.... I think I will have to come back to this one again.
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
The Middle
Most stories start at the beginning. But this is not the beginning of my situation. Not really sure this is actually the middle, but it sounds good so that is what I am going to go with. Over the years, writing has been something I have gone to on a number of occasions to help formulate my thoughts or act as a release to get some of my thoughts out. When I was deployed to Afghanistan I actually wrote in a journal quite a bit — I have a hard time reading a lot of it but it also brings me back to what I was thinking of a lot over there. Most recently I starting writing a journal to put all my thoughts down on paper in early January. I don't remember exactly what day, but pretty much right after my wife dropped the divorce on me, I needed to start venting and putting my thoughts down on paper. Mostly it was my thoughts that I wanted her to know because she was either not around, or had already moved out for a while before I sold the house, because I did not really know what else to do. In the end I left all the letters there at the home for her to read. There were some real personal thoughts in there, but she had been one of only a couple people I have ever had in my life that I felt comfortable talking about anything with. I have no idea if she ever ready any of it — did she read and cry? did she read and laugh? did she just toss them out and never even look at them? In the end it doesn't matter, because nothing I said or wrote ever changed anything, but I did feel better putting myself out there.
So now we are here. 4 months to the day from when all this bullshit started. Sold the home (Jamie is still parked in the garage but that will change soon) to her and have everything out of there. I am over in an apartment with my cat (Uno) and playing fetch with him most days while he sits there and yells at me all the time. My days are pretty simple, waking up around 4 to a cat yelling in my face, off to the gym by 5-515, working out until 8ish and then off to work. Sometimes its a second trip to the gym and other times is home. regardless, there is almost no social interaction besides work, and I am actually pretty ok with that right now. For a couple weeks I have been struggling to come up with a the words to explain how I am and what my thoughts are that did not sound like a cry for help. That is most certainly NOT what this is. Sure I am depressed and not a fan of myself, but that is no different than the last 34 years of my life really. Where things are a little different now, is just how mad I am all the time. Its a perpetual thing and it only gets worse when I get in my own head and start having conversations with myself about what could have been or things I should have seen/known/done. Ruined many a good gym days with those.
What is really embarrassing to admit though, is that spending time around my friends and family actually makes t.hings worse and make me even more mad. I find myself finding excuses not to see them, or leaving early when I could/should probably stay around longer, because seeing them reminds me of what I thought I had. I'm not getting mad at them (thankfully) but just at my situations. I have been an incredibly boring person as of late, doing nothing more than reading, writing and going to the gym, but I also have no real interest in changing that. I've been given very nice offers from friends for places to go and hangout and see them whenever I want to, and as much as I appreciate those I hope they also know that I will likely never take them up on it.... because I am dumb like that.
Though I think I understand, I am still kind of sick of people telling me to get out and start talking to / meeting people again. Want to know how messed up I am? Despite everything that happened — even the stuff that I don't know about and will probably will never be told — I am still married. Isn't that messed up? The person I wanted to be with for the rest of my life kicked me to the side, showed me I was not important to them, and yet because there is a piece of paper that says we are still linked, I refuse to allow myself to try and move on right now.
The interesting thing with journal writing is that it just ends when you are all out of thoughts. Like this.
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