Rolled out of bed at 5 am this morning, but I was anxious to get the day going. I stepped outside and to my suprise this place is cooling down. It's not until 9 or so that the heat makes you want to puke. Unfortunately by noon I am squished between two soldiers in a C17 with drops of sweat squeezing through my eyelashes. It's not so painful that I don't take a snooze over the next three hours and wake up with drool on my chin.
I am route to my new job as an embedded journalist with the 41st Infantry. I am traveling with two other military journalists from the Infantry unit. Everything is so complicated. We take our bags here and there and everywhere, one bag gets lost and found. We go to chow, we get lost trying to find the tent city, our lodging for the night, then we can't find our tents. Why must the military not organize numbers in a way that makes sense, 102 comes after 97?
We walk around in the dark, searching for my tent. The weight of my bag burns my shoulders and the deep gravel makes my feet feel like two dead fish. Finally we find my tent. I am tired, but ready for the unknown, new people, new places, but how I miss the Medevac unit. As I lay down for sleep and the air-conditioning breezes through the air I feel that darkness of one part of my life disappears, but I am filled with excitement of the faint light of the future. Who knows what will happen next?
No comments:
Post a Comment