Every Single Year....

Each year, we do this really cool thing in America we call "celebrating Memorial Day" and do so in various ways. Now I'm not going to haul off and bitch about people water-skiing when they should be remembering dead soldiers; I don't care what you do. If you want to remember someone, great... there are 364 other days a year for that too.....

Every year on Memorial Day, I find myself watching war documentaries, scanning through the Faces of the Fallen and old pictures. Do I miss the Army or being gone in a foreign land? Hell no.  Do I get a wash of emotions when I see young men firing rifles into buildings and hear the zipping of rounds?   Sure.  The AK-47 and the RPK are two things you will never forget the sound of; they are so unique a sound due to their construction and design.

I often wonder if I've got any of the old gunslinger left in me, but it doesn't matter now. Still, it's just an errant thought that goes as quickly as it came.  My answer to myself is always yes.

Not more than a few hours ago, I was pondering something really deep and meaningful to write and I dismissed it in lieu of this. I used to get emails, phone calls and text messages (I did get a few today) thanking me for my service, but I have to tell them "This isn't meant for me. I'm not dead".  I can say, however, with resounding sadness that no person I know who has died in combat has done so for anything other than the men to their left and right at that time.

This has turned out disastrously... well.. here are links to the couple vids of interest I saw today.

Panic, Fear and Frustration

*Re-posted today... formatting fixed...   

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all. My entire body hurt and I was exhausted. I realized that I had been tossing and turning all night due to a fucked up dream.  

    I found myself among an Army unit very similar to my old one, but with nobody I recognized. I was clearly a replacement and was sent to the front lines of the conflict. I had no gear, no clothes beyond what I wore and my rifle had been lost somewhere in shipping. I was frantic as the enemy assaults hit like waves and I continued to duck into bunkers and craters. 

   I continued to charge into fighting positions, flip over my dead comrades and check their weapons. Each time, the weapon was either broken, missing or otherwise unsuitable. The grim mess of congealed blood and organ tissue was mixing with the mud and ash of the area all over my clothes. I didn't have the sense to strip the dead of their armor, as it hadn't done them any good. 

  I never saw the enemy, but I heard and felt the tremors caused by their bombardments and their small arms fire. Everywhere in the din of battle I could hear the screams of the dying and the commands of the Sergeants leading our men over the bulkheads. It was so strange of me to not be in the fight. 

  I met with one soldier who was clearly not in the fight; I tried to get him to give me his rifle. He denied my request, which is smart for him. This entire time, I never lined anyone up in my sights, I never held an operating weapon and I never saw anyone I knew. It was pretty nuts.

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Anyway, yeah... there it is... I woke up feeling like 217 pounds of smashed ass...   I slept much better last night. 

First Bit of Profit

With this little teeny bit of profit from my business, I am now only upside down about 235 bucks in licensing costs and a grand in tools. Could be way worse. Today, I set up my first 1911 trigger job and I am stoked. I am really thankful that people in the community believe in me enough to give me the chance. Well, this is a short post because it's not that important of a subject. We shall see what happens over the next few months. Hopefully it will be filled with blog posts about how I have work coming at me left and right and I have tons of spare cash. *fingers crossed*