As expected, this is the hardest part of the deployment so far: it’s incredibly hot, I’ve watched all the movies and played all the video games that one could ever be expected to, and people are starting to grate on my nerves (well, more than usual, anyway). I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but there are still long months ahead.
It’s not like this place is bad, per se – KBR does air conditioner repair 24 hours a day, the power usually doesn’t go out during the day, and last night I had BBQ ribs, macaroni & cheese, and broccoli for dinner. I’m typing this from my room (all by myself, since my roommate’s on leave), and despite a couple of rocket attacks late last month that killed two people on the camp, it’s still a secure place to be. (How many people were killed in traffic accidents last month in the Twin Cities?)
It’s just that…I’ve been living in the equivalent of a walk-in closet for 15 months (counting our time at Benning and Hood, of course), with the same people (some of whom I could hardly stand from the get-go and after 1.25 years, let’s just say that it’s miraculous everyone still has all assigned limbs attached), wearing the same clothes. Actually, the clothing thing isn’t too bad – not having to worry about what to wear is convenient and the desert combat uniform is an outfit for all occasions. Operating an LOS radio truck? DCU’s! Meeting a senator? DCU’s! Going into battle? DCU’s!
Plus, I hate packing. The idea of packing and recovering our equipment boggles my mind and makes me search for alternatives – maybe I could “accidently” shoot myself in the leg right before we come home so I can skip out on Conex Fest 2005. The amount of logistical work necessary for just our company is astounding – rank upon rank of vehicles, all with equipment to be cleaned, inventoried and packed; countless pounds of ancilliary equipment, like extra uniforms, weapons, spare parts, office supplies, chairs, tools, tables; and everybody’s vast collection of personal gear, which is at a minimum 3 duffel bags, 1 footlocker, and 1 “carry-on” backpack.
It’s sort of a cop-out to write about wanting to go home when you’re in Iraq; it’s sort of a no-brainer. It’s all that’s on my mind lately, though, and since nothing really happens at good ol’ Camp Liberty, there’s not much else to write about anyway.