I'm not going to sugarcoat this.
This evening, I participated in an undie run.
IT WAS FRICKIN AWESOME!
I'm also entirely sure that it is classified as behavior unbecoming of an officer. You know what? I don't give a fuck. I'm in college. If I want to run around in my gods damned underwear one night of the year, I will.
We all have to be human sometime.
-Doug
"Control is not convinced."
-Major Tom (Coming Home) 'Shiny Toy Guns'
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Jasmine: Project GRANDMA
I haven’t blogged in a while. Haven’t had the urge. But I need to keep my hands busy and I’m tired of crocheting for a while. Nothing much of note has happened in the past few weeks. Out of school yada yada. This summer or this month or however long it’s gonna take my family has a project, it’s name is grandma.
My grandmother, actually my great grandmother, is what my aunt likes to call a hoarder. She collects random things and stores them around her. Come to think of it I’m probably one too. Cause… I collect things and store them around me… but until recently it hasn’t been much of a problem. For her. It will never be a problem for me. Because my things… never mind. My own hoarding problem is a discussion for another time. This is about grandma.
Rose is 87 years old. And until the last couple of years she has been active and healthy, her mind stronger than ever. Then about 2 years ago she stopped. Or something inside her stopped and now she needs 24 hour supervision to make sure that she eats and takes her meds doesn’t wander away… anyways this change has made us realize that it’s difficult to exist in her apartment. Boxes tower over you, mice hide in the clutter on the kitchen counter. There was an overall smell of musk though that could just be the old person smell, combined with cigarettes. My grandma doesn’t smoke it’s my uncle who’s living with her now. So my aunt decided to get rid of the clutter and organize what’s left, and I’ve been helping.
Last week every night we went over there filled the van with boxes threw away bag after bag of trash, and made things livable. After 8 days, essentially 8 van loads of unwanted stuff to the goodwill and I stopped counting how many trips to the dumpster we’ve got the living room, kitchen, hallway, and most of her bedroom clean. There’s the rest of her bedroom another bedroom and two hall closets. I am in awe of the collection of stuff.
We should put it in a museum. Not just some of it, all of it and call the exhibit “Life” or something like that because that is what this is, what we are removing from her apartment, her life. We’ve tried to take things out of here before but never been successful in doing that. She used to say that she didn’t want us taking her things. They were her stuff and she didn’t want to die with nothing. And now she’s too far gone to really speak up for herself. She just sits on the couch looking old and sad and in pain. As if we are taking pieces of her away and when we’re done and there’s nothing left she will be nothing and have nothing left. I have this strange feeling that when were done cleaning she’s going to die. But probably won’t happen. I’ll let you know if it does.
It’s not quiet, never quiet. My cousin’s in the next room crying over her own existence. My music is blaring blocking out the world I don’t want to experience. My uncle shuffles from room to room in search of something long gone… himself. Cars drive by ignoring this secluded bubble of my world. My head begins to pound a small pain in my right temple telling me to get out, to run, to go somewhere quiet where not even the birds or the crickets sing.
“Take me away, a secret place
A sweet escape, take me away
Take me away, to better days
Take me away, a hiding place”
My grandmother, actually my great grandmother, is what my aunt likes to call a hoarder. She collects random things and stores them around her. Come to think of it I’m probably one too. Cause… I collect things and store them around me… but until recently it hasn’t been much of a problem. For her. It will never be a problem for me. Because my things… never mind. My own hoarding problem is a discussion for another time. This is about grandma.
Rose is 87 years old. And until the last couple of years she has been active and healthy, her mind stronger than ever. Then about 2 years ago she stopped. Or something inside her stopped and now she needs 24 hour supervision to make sure that she eats and takes her meds doesn’t wander away… anyways this change has made us realize that it’s difficult to exist in her apartment. Boxes tower over you, mice hide in the clutter on the kitchen counter. There was an overall smell of musk though that could just be the old person smell, combined with cigarettes. My grandma doesn’t smoke it’s my uncle who’s living with her now. So my aunt decided to get rid of the clutter and organize what’s left, and I’ve been helping.
Last week every night we went over there filled the van with boxes threw away bag after bag of trash, and made things livable. After 8 days, essentially 8 van loads of unwanted stuff to the goodwill and I stopped counting how many trips to the dumpster we’ve got the living room, kitchen, hallway, and most of her bedroom clean. There’s the rest of her bedroom another bedroom and two hall closets. I am in awe of the collection of stuff.
We should put it in a museum. Not just some of it, all of it and call the exhibit “Life” or something like that because that is what this is, what we are removing from her apartment, her life. We’ve tried to take things out of here before but never been successful in doing that. She used to say that she didn’t want us taking her things. They were her stuff and she didn’t want to die with nothing. And now she’s too far gone to really speak up for herself. She just sits on the couch looking old and sad and in pain. As if we are taking pieces of her away and when we’re done and there’s nothing left she will be nothing and have nothing left. I have this strange feeling that when were done cleaning she’s going to die. But probably won’t happen. I’ll let you know if it does.
It’s not quiet, never quiet. My cousin’s in the next room crying over her own existence. My music is blaring blocking out the world I don’t want to experience. My uncle shuffles from room to room in search of something long gone… himself. Cars drive by ignoring this secluded bubble of my world. My head begins to pound a small pain in my right temple telling me to get out, to run, to go somewhere quiet where not even the birds or the crickets sing.
“Take me away, a secret place
A sweet escape, take me away
Take me away, to better days
Take me away, a hiding place”
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Doug: Currents
I can feel the air swirling around me.
It's been hot all day, Hell, for the last fortnight the humidity and the heat have been trying to kill me by dehydration. But now it's cool, and windy.
The sun is set, I can see the last of it fade away into the clouds and full night descends. My eyes close.
I can hear the cool wind calling my name.
Time to go again.
-Doug
Kamikaze, known as "The Divine Wind"
It's been hot all day, Hell, for the last fortnight the humidity and the heat have been trying to kill me by dehydration. But now it's cool, and windy.
The sun is set, I can see the last of it fade away into the clouds and full night descends. My eyes close.
I can hear the cool wind calling my name.
Time to go again.
-Doug
Kamikaze, known as "The Divine Wind"
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
That guy: AHAHAHAHA
How is Abe Pfeffer's game like Michael Jordan's game?
Cause when he shoots, he SCORES!
-That guy
Cause when he shoots, he SCORES!
-That guy
Doug: I need sleeps. And grenades. But for once, I'm making the priority sleeps.
Well, shit.
I have a seabag inspection Thursday. I'm pretty sure I don't have all my gear. That's just great.
I'm pretty sure that with a little studying I'll pass my finals. So that's okay.
I have to pack up ALL my collective shit, and somehow get a significant portion of it back home. That is NOT okay.
I'm here for 11 more days. that also, is not okay. I wanna be home.
Now.
Well. That little wish didn't work.
Also, it's hotter that dick up in this dorm. I'm pretty sure I've consumed more liquid in the past hour than the entire Mississippi puts into the Gulf of Mexico in a month.
I'll give you a hint. That's a lot of water.
So yeah. That's my life right now.
Oh yeah. my sleep schedule's all fucked up too. I blame the heat. And the staying out till 0230 in the morning.
Eleven days.
Yep.
-Doug
"Then one day Lieutenant Dan called me, and he said we didn't have to worry 'bout money no more, and I said, 'Good. One less thing.'"
-Forrest Gump
I have a seabag inspection Thursday. I'm pretty sure I don't have all my gear. That's just great.
I'm pretty sure that with a little studying I'll pass my finals. So that's okay.
I have to pack up ALL my collective shit, and somehow get a significant portion of it back home. That is NOT okay.
I'm here for 11 more days. that also, is not okay. I wanna be home.
Now.
Well. That little wish didn't work.
Also, it's hotter that dick up in this dorm. I'm pretty sure I've consumed more liquid in the past hour than the entire Mississippi puts into the Gulf of Mexico in a month.
I'll give you a hint. That's a lot of water.
So yeah. That's my life right now.
Oh yeah. my sleep schedule's all fucked up too. I blame the heat. And the staying out till 0230 in the morning.
Eleven days.
Yep.
-Doug
"Then one day Lieutenant Dan called me, and he said we didn't have to worry 'bout money no more, and I said, 'Good. One less thing.'"
-Forrest Gump
Friday, May 29, 2009
Doug: Today
Today:
I got real sleep, where I woke up rested.
I got up, and got a personal record on the PFT.
I got my phone fixed.
I talked to people I love.
I'm going to work outside, and finish the table and benches.
I'm going to eat a meal with my brother.
I'm going to sleep in tomorrow.
Today's a good day.
-Doug
"Because nothing is built like a tank. NOTHING."
-Moto poster.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
That guy: An actual piece of writing?
I stare down at them. Scurrying about. Worker ants. Drones.
My steel cage provides no comfort, but at least I am elevated from their level.
At least I can see.
I see them flashing their plastic smiles.
I see them flaunting their plastic love.
I feel them fading away from the core.
And I grimace.
Their laughter; fake.
Their joy; fake.
I watch their sense fade away.
A Heartless amongst us all.
Their hollow pain multiplies. Exponentially. Infecting, spreading.
No force can stop this cycle. No power that is can comfort them.
So they draw forth their plastic. They cover their gifts in lies; in fallacies.
And I glare, high above their mighty land.
There is no comfort. There is no sensation.
There is only waste.
There is only decrepance.
There is only hate.
There is only rage.
My steel cage provides no comfort, but at least I am elevated from their level.
At least I can see.
I see them flashing their plastic smiles.
I see them flaunting their plastic love.
I feel them fading away from the core.
And I grimace.
Their laughter; fake.
Their joy; fake.
I watch their sense fade away.
A Heartless amongst us all.
Their hollow pain multiplies. Exponentially. Infecting, spreading.
No force can stop this cycle. No power that is can comfort them.
So they draw forth their plastic. They cover their gifts in lies; in fallacies.
And I glare, high above their mighty land.
There is no comfort. There is no sensation.
There is only waste.
There is only decrepance.
There is only hate.
There is only rage.
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