Random brain happenings at 4:30 a.m.

Man. When you have to start waking up at 4:30 a.m. to prepare yourself for training, "fall back" is the most special daylight savings time of them all. Still. Man.

***

Meredith is shaving my head today. Pictures to follow. I stopped giving myself buzz cuts a long time ago, mainly because the scalp zit is the king of zit-related pain. But I've been told that shaving your own head makes the transition to basic training a little less traumatic, so buzz away. I just hope I don't scare the hell out of the kid.

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Does anyone watch The Simpsons anymore? And if you do, is it because you think it's still funny?

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I've decided to cut down the list of "Things I Must Do Before Shipping Out." Some of the reason why is practical, as I just don't have the time to spend a day walking along Mustang Island humming my favorite Texas music tunes. But mainly, I just need to prepare myself on the job at hand, and it's tough to do anything if everything suddenly takes on a sentimental tinge. "Gee honey, I'd like to run to the WalMart to pick up some lettuce and bananas, but it'll be the last time before I go and just too emotionally overwhelming. (Sob)."

***

I think I'll be far better off with the whole military career thing if I keep in my mind that, all things considered, it's a job. There's no need for me to think about George Washington looking over my shoulder every time I go to the bathroom. Just. Do. The. Job.

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Seriously, The Simpsons? This struck me when I was taking a run in Hico a coupla weeks back. I haven't watched an entire new episode since 2005. The last show I attempted to watch started with Bart seeing the nerd kid driving a combine. Obvious storyline: Bart gets into an agricultural program and to his horror discovers where meat comes from. I watched something else for a bit, but when I switched it back at the end of the half-hour, there Bart was, trying to rescue a scared-looking pig. Why watch if you can predict what's going to happen beforehand?

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I can understand watching out of a sentimental attachment to a show that's been around for, good Lord, the majority of my life. I watched all of the Bob Hope specials long after he'd lost his edge. But, even in his dotage, Hope managed to project a sense of his greatness. The Simpsons just cheapen themselves further each season -- Marge in frickin' Playboy? They'd be better off if they cut out the tired jokes and the tired plot and just put Lisa up there for 22 minutes, lecturing us on the progressive way of life. It's what they want to do anyway.

***

Ah, Hope:



Sorry to break the "No politics, ever" rule. But it's harmless. And it's probably my last time to do that before ... (sob).

A life with no sauce

It’s 4 a.m., raining, and not easy to sleep. I’ve maintained radio silence here long enough that it’s doubtful anyone comes here regularly anymore.

So how ‘bout some self-indulgent navel gazing?

A week ago, I was eating dinner with Sam, listening to one of his CDs play through a song about Dad Fish and Son Fish going up to the surface of the ocean to check things out. My meal consisted of brown rice, tuna and peas. Sam was going through his macaroni, marinara sauce and chicken, cheese and some kind vegetables. I couldn’t help but notice that he probably was getting more calories than me, and it tasted better to boot.

I figured that my meal – plain, healthy, boring as hell – was a pretty good metaphor for my life for the time being.

My daily schedule:

1. Drag myself out of bed by 10.
2. Eat cereal.
3. Talk myself into my five-mile run.
4. Run, if talk was successful, or eat lunch if not.
5. Run, if unsuccessful the first time.
6. Dinner preparation, household chores.
7. Dinner.
8. Dishes.
9. Put Sam to bed.
10. Should I sleep or do treadmill work? Hmmmmm ...
    

Throw in there: Three or four sets (if I’m being good) of push-ups, sit-ups and planks; reading-on-demand for Sam; talking to Meredith about frustrations with work/school. Try to throw in: Something to prepare for the massive life-change we’ll be making next month.

The result -- of the monotonous schedule and the focus on the Army -- is that life has become very dull, very tense. Or maybe that’s just the state of mind I’m stuck in. I don’t like myself much lately. I’m too snappish with my wife. My son has fully entered the terrible twos stage, and that’s been an adventure. “Adventure” as in something that’ll be funny about 16 years from now.

I’ve banned myself from making comments on Facebook because I just tend to pop up and rain on everyone’s parade. I.E.:

Some Person 1: Wow, is it still Monday? Why can’t it be Friday!!

Some other person: ROFLMAO!!! U R hillareous!!!

Me: I realize I only knew one of you briefly at Evans Junior High, but let me invite both of you to kill yourselves.

(Besides it’s unfair. If people don’t have a right to complain about Mondays on Facebook, I don’t have a right to spend an hour talking about the weather in Hico every time I see my Dad.)

If I had an 18-year-old body and no responsibilities, I’d be able to blow off steam in the typical juvenile ways until my shipping date. But I have responsibilities, and my diet has cut out alcohol to the point where the smell of beer gives me a second-hand buzz.

Basic training is a big unknown. You kind of know what you’ll be doing – running, getting yelled at, tear gas training, waking up really early – but you have no idea how that’ll translate into a day-to-day existence for nine weeks. I’m stuck wanting to get it over with and wanting to take more time to be in better shape for it.

Every now and then I’ll go to the Army web site, look at some videos and see the guns that I’ll be shooting. That gets me psyched up. Still, the whole thing still seems unreal to me and Meredith.

I guess it’ll be real enough, very soon.