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No. 113055
ID: 4fa264
I don't know my job status, if I'm even really employed right now, when I'm returning to NorCal or exactly what it is I'm doing when I get there; it's messy. The survey shit I was doing is a soon to be finished project. I am now a member of the IBEW... I think? I don't know, man. I was supposed to start work as a groundman (still not sure what they do), but it got delayed. My boss is constantly hitting me with shit last minute, there's some vague notion that my doing this shit will eventually translate to a career back here in Vegas, and being unable to tell my wife when I'm supposed to leave or return is irking.
All I know is I fucking love the Army. Completed my first two week annual training for the reserve a week ago. I love my platoon, got a lot out of our training (I ramped a 100 pound robot off a fucking sage bush!), and even sleeping restlessly in the back of a cramped blast resistant vehicle, grimy clothes still on, I felt at ease. My ceaseless worrying and self doubt and second guessing all just shut the fuck up for two glorious weeks. My wife keeps saying I should've went active duty, but I refuse to uproot her. She's started a good career, a master's program, her whole family is here, and she'll never have a better selection of medical specialists (it's gotten worse, by the way. She sustained heart damage). And yet, I feel like whatever I do on the civilian side is just to pay bills until the day I'm down range, in the shit. I want it bad. God help me, I really fucking do.
Highlights of AT:
During an exercise with a grader on site:
>"2-6, Talon. The robot may have inadvertently made contac-"
>"breakbreakbreakbreakshhhhhutthefuckup!"
>"This is 2-6, say again last?"
>"Disregard, hot mic."
A battalion wide party in the barracks where I witnessed my fucked up drunk LT tell off another company's 1st SGT, an impromptu B-boy dance battle, we all got smoked by the XO because even Top was fucked up, and at one point I shouted for a medic.
Smoking black & milds with several platoon members on the hood of an RG as the sun set, an Apache pilot doing some kind of drill in the distance.
My platoon sergeant awarding me high praise.
>"This motherfucker is either CID or a fucking serial killer."
Rolling in a convoy where every driver was hungover except for the LT's driver; he was still drunk.
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