Nothingness and Everything

There is nothingness inside of nothingness here. The land drifts on for miles, with no mountains for comfort, only large berms of concrete and sand. The Taco Bell, the carpet and gift Shop, alterations, laundry and Starbucks are all the same square, dust-colored buildings,only separated by mounted signs on the front. My movements are restricted to and from my tent, the shops, the chow hall and gym. 

I don't feel locked up because there is no where else to go, and I miss nothing because I am rarely reminded of home.

A few days ago it rained. I walked outside, recognizing the smell, but the drops of water soaked into the sand not green grass. 

Of course there are thoughts that occasionally cross my mind like indoor plumbing, wearing my hair down, having a beer with friends, long showers, vegan pizza in Eugene, driving out to Smith Rock or the Three Sisters and saturating my eyes with colors like green and blue. But the newness of everyone and everything here washes away my nostalgia because those lost things are connected to the things that terrify me, like long work hours at part-time jobs indoors, busy work at the University, television and grocery shopping. 

And besides, there is everything on top of everything here. The sand comes up and burrows into my eyes and scalp.  The coffee shops are always crowded and the generators are always running. The soldiers dress the same, but wear different patches on their uniforms and the sky above our heads turn from blue-brown to grey-brown to white-brown to brown.