Life, Lives, Wake Up

Life is an odd medium, depending on one’s perspective I suppose. There are so many different paths a life could take for better or for worse. Some have their lives mapped out from birth. Some wish they had a map. Some are uncomfortable with living at all. There are certain things you are supposed to do as a participant in life with the fellow living. You are supposed to be polite and ask how their day was; you’re supposed to agree with strangers when they make an idiotic statement, out of courtesy. You’re supposed to care when you really don’t. Why? Well if you don’t you will most likely be labeled an asshole by everyone who is “living”. Most of the population is so self-absorbed that if you don’t hang on their every word it is inevitable that they will label you an asshole. In the interaction among humans when did it become obligatory to care about someone else’s life? Most of us see life through this tiny peephole that it becomes near impossible to see anything outside of our own lives. BUT passing judgment on things outside of your own short sighted perspective is an American past time. So why ask someone to care about your life when in return you will judge them as worthy of your attention? Perhaps some lives are more important than others. There should be a scale that rates the lives of some higher than others which requires attention from those ranked at the bottom of the scale. Why can’t all lives be just as pertinent as the next regardless of background, social status, monetary status, race, sexual preference, or occupation? We all only have one life, just one, yet we place value on certain lives over others which is perplexing to me. We are all born and we all die, that’s the bottom line. We are all given one chip in this casino we call life and we can use it any way we see fit. Once we can collectively grasp this concept as living people we would be much better off. Sounds cheesy, I know, however the direction we are headed maybe we need some cheese.

Pieces and Creases

Unkown Morality

I just recently watched the movie Unknown with Liam Neeson. If you haven’t seen it, it is basically a mirror image of the Taken movies except in this one he loses his memory as opposed to his daughter and wife.  The premise of Uknown is this: it begins with Liam Neeson traveling to Berlin as a doctor to attend a medical convention. Upon landing his taxi cab is involved in an accident which puts Liam in a river. As a result of the accident he loses his memory, in other words he suffers from amnesia. Turns out he is actually an assassin who was playing the identity of a doctor but cannot remember that tidbit of information. He truly believes he is this false identity of doctor. Now here is the game changer, once he realizes he is actually an assassin he becomes appalled by his former trade. Really?

So what tickles my interest in this mediocre movie is morality. Prior to Liam Neeson’s amnesia he killed people for a living. He gets a bump on the head and suddenly the thought of taking another life becomes repulsive. I find it interesting; is that possible? To make a complete 180 degree turn on the concept of killing someone. I find that to be pretty radical.

So it begs the question: Where does morality come from- where does it exist in the human psyche, how do you get it, is it innate or learned, or is it some bullshit we have gleaned from the bible that you can agree or disagree with? Is there really such a thing as right and wrong? If your answer is yes, what makes such and such right? And for all the anarchists (aka socialists), who says what you are doing is wrong? Who introduced the idea of morality in the first place? What I find immoral behavior to be here in the states may be perfectly acceptable in some country I can’t pronounce.

Bottom line is we limit ourselves with bullshit close minded thinking. I happen to be lucky because I can traverse both camps (it’s one of my superpowers). At the end Liam Neeson kills a man as a civilian, the non-assassin and/or the doctor he thought he was. However, that kill he was perfectly okay with. He goes home and makes babies with the milk lady.

Reentry

When you get your post combat debriefing you don’t pay much mind to it because you’re on your way home and the war is in your rearview. What you don’t realize is that the war has hardly begun. I don’t excuse my actions after leaving Iraq, because I saw action in Iraq. Trust me I did some fucked up things in Iraq and fucked up things after I got out. I will never forget what a childhood friend told me after I finally calmed down. He said to me, “I had to stop hanging out with you because you were out of control”. 

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done, I have no regrets. But that statement hit me pretty hard. They don’t tell you in the post combat debriefing that this might be how your life will be once you get out; that a childhood friend will tell you that he wouldn’t hangout with you because you were out of control.

To be continued....

Pieces and Creases

Suicide

There are times when waking up seems like a chore. When getting out of bed is an insurmountable challenge that takes everything out of you, but somehow you manage to do it anyway but you don’t know what for. Every day is just like the last. You go through the motions of being a human yet you know it’s just an act: Hi, good to see you again- Oh yes, I love this grocery store too- What?! So and so had another baby? You don’t say? Blah blah blah, ‘someone kill me’. What’s the point? Why go through the same shit day in and day out? And then pretend to be surprised at each new day. Life eventually loses its flavor, like when the warranty of a new vehicle runs out; it comes late and without forewarning, leaving you stuck with what you have.

What do you do at that point? You can’t trade in life for a newer model with a new warranty. Or can you? Maybe you believed in reincarnation. You lead a good life for as long as you could remember and then the expiration of your lifetime warranty abruptly ran out. So what gives? Well, let me tell you.

Regardless of what you drive, the warranty will run out. You will lose your motivation to navigate daily life amongst all of the warranty holders. That is because your so called life’s bumper-to-bumper warranty is up. Your capacity for empathy has been exhausted. You are done, and you have three choices left: live life as a shell of your former self, reinvent yourself completely severing yourself from all of your past, OR end it all.

The third option is the best and only option folks. Send the car to the junkyard to have it compacted sown in to a Sprite can or sold for parts: liver here, kidney here, heart there, whatever. Once the warranty runs out there is no reason to hang on to the vehicle. You can try and sell it to someone else but it still reeks of your hopes, dreams, and admirations which the owner will never be able to get rid of like the stench of storing a dead body in your trunk for months (I hit a deer KAREN!).

Disregard this stigma that taking one’s own life is wrong. Remember this car is without a warranty so it is worth practically nothing. You know how the saying goes, “as soon as the warranty runs out, an onslaught of problems begin” (I don’t know if that is an actual saying but I just made it one). So what does all this mean? Can I have all your cars without a warranty?

One of Those Days

“Shit what time is it”? The clock on the dash reads 8:30am. I would much rather sleep a couple of more hours, I don't have to be at work until 11, but this fucking heat is unbearable. Who would have thought it got this hot in Tulsa. Again I entertain the thought of rolling the windows down before I go to sleep, but I know better than that, I haven't made it this far making foolish decisions. I know if I leave my windows down my chances of getting jacked increase exponentially. Shit, this one time I was parked behind this bar and I left my door cracked to let some air in while I slept. Next thing I know the laws are waking me up asking me a bunch of dumb ass questions. I told them I was too drunk to drive home so I decided to sleep in my vehicle and must have not closed the door all the way. They said that's fine but I need to keep my doors closed and locked, as there has been reported vandalism and stolen vehicles in the area. Anyhow, I can roll my windows down now that I'm awake. I hate smoking when it’s really hot but what the hell, I have a lot of time to kill. I should go grab a beer as well, 'the breakfast of champions'. I hop out of the front of my Cherokee wearing only Adida shorts, a wife beater, and some shower shoes. I open the back door where both back seats are laying in the forward position and rummage through a large plastic container in search of a clean shirt, find one, grab my Chucks from the floor board and slam the door shut. I reach for the sky enjoying the sound of my back popping, “nothing like sleeping in a car”, as the cherry of my cigarette starts to point south like a dying plant, dangerously close to burning a hole in my 'clean shirt'. “Where the fuck are my sunglasses”? Not a priority at the moment I tell myself, my thirst is. I finish my smoke as I walk to the gas station which is about a block away. I enter and welcome the blast of the A/C. I walk to the beer aisle, “Hmmm, what do I want to drink before I go into work…..? It is 8:45 now, plenty of time to get a 40oz down before I have to be in”. I buy my 40 and a bottle of water and make my way back to my vehicle. When I get back I put the keys in the ignition and turn the dial on the radio to ESPN. As I listen to Scott Van Pelt fill me in on the latest sports news I pull my hygiene bag out of the glove box and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and brush my teeth. I rinse my mouth out with the bottle of water I just bought. I pull a protein bar out of the center console to appease my rumbling stomach. I climb back into the front seat, lean the seat, kick my feet up onto the dash and crack my 40.

Well it’s about that time, Its 10:45 and time for me to get a move on. I take the last swigs of my and admire handy work, the best way to get the day started. I bury the empty bottle under some dirty clothes and gather my uniform from the back seat. I notice the parking spots behind starting to fill up as employees make their way to the back door of their respective restaurant. I quickly dawn my uniform, jeans and a black t-shirt, and gargle a mouthful of mouthwash and spit it out. 10:50, time to get on the road. I crank the engine, back out and navigate my way to the exit of the parking lot. Traffic is light so I easily cross the street into the parking lot opposite of the one I just left and park. I walk to the back door quite similar to the employees I just witnessed. I enter through the kitchen making my way to domicile. I step behind the bar and feel instantly at ease. I grab my magic wand and point it at my five friends and instantly ESPN appears on each screen. I go through my morning chores of setting up the bar while I enjoy the effects of that 40oz massage my brain cells, preparing myself for the ensuing double shift.  Margie, the manager, brings me my drawer and gives me an apprehensive “good morning”. “Always a good morning when I’m working with you Marge” I respond. She rolls her eyes, “just count your drawer and make sure it is correct” and exits the bar. I do as she says and slide my drawer into the register. By this time it’s 11:30 and the doors have been open for half an hour. A few customers trickle in but not to the bar.

Carton of Cigarettes

Have you ever been in a situation that you conceived as completely unbearable? A situation where taking your next breath is an actual task; it takes determined thought to inhale and exhale? The world has collapsed upon on you like a rickety roof, and you have no idea what to do. You want to rip the skin from your body like a superhero in a phone booth. 

This is what it feels like being in the Shit. Soldiers handle it in different ways. Some shoot themselves in the foot hoping for a free ticket home, only to find out that they are not going anywhere, you are needed on the line, can’t lose another gun. Some become hysterical and cry uncontrollably only to have their Kevlar (helmet) knocked off by the butt of a rifle. Some just become very distant as if they have checked out and their actions are being controlled by some sort of a puppet master. You recognize these Grunts immediately; they have the 1,000 yard stare: just dead eyes with no emotion, only reaction. We might be sitting and eating chow and they laugh out of nowhere for no reason, like an inside joke who they are the only one privy to. No one questions his laughter because we all know where he is. He doesn’t look around embarrassed as a result of his uncalled for laughter, because he has reached a place where social etiquette is totally foreign. You can only hope that when it’s all over he can come back to us. But for now it is to everyone’s benefit for him to remain in this state. This is what we signed up for after all.

When you get your gear list to invade another country there are a couple of necessities that are not included on that list: cigarettes, chewing tobacco, and coffee. So what you do is, you leave out an extra pair of socks or skivvies from the list and use that extra space to stuff a carton of Newports and/or a log of chewing tobacco (you need chewing tobacco if you are a smoker because you can’t smoke at night as it will give away your position when the enemy sees a cig cherry glowing like a jack o lantern). So I did both. 

I hit that point that I have been describing shortly after my carton of smokes ran out. I wasn’t in a state of hysteria but I was in a state of despair. In my mind no cigarettes meant the death of me; obviously an irrational reaction, but my reaction none the less. At that point rationality did not exist. We reached an area where we were given permission to remove our Kevlar and our flak jackets for a couple of hours. I ripped off my Kevlar and flak jacket as if it were restricting oxygen from my body and took off sprinting. I hid under a Humvee for a good while and tried to catch my breath.

We got our first mail drop since leaving Kuwait that day. I got a package that contained a carton of cigarettes.