/ deadly kindness

I have so much in my head and so little to say these days, and it makes for uncomfortable company, I fear, as I am unable to rely upon years of rote conversation to get me through the empty air. Instead of saying something like, 'How's that job of yours?' I am tempted to ask, 'Is it wrong to make out with your cousin's wife, as long as it's not a blood relative?'

They keep trying to trick me into political arguments by mentioning the latest gaffe of so-and-so, knowing that I am quick to a joke, but good luck. I am smart enough to know I cannot possibly be right because no one I ever believe in ever goes on to great things. And I couldn't be happier. Let the suckers take the blame. Besides, who am I to talk, fantasizing about my cousin's wife? You shouldn't be in charge of the machinery when you're intoxicated.

Over the weekend, we drove down to Clark County and wore camouflage and loaded up our paintball guns and ran through the frozen woods like one great long primal scream. At one point I ran too close to the creek, breaking through the ice, losing both of my shoes as my men left me behind. They had no choice, I would only slow them down, or give away our position because I wouldn't stop whistling Dueling Banjos. I crawled back through the slush and the mud, dug out my shoes and prayed to my toes to wake up, wake up, piggies! I searched my pockets for my old zippo lighter, because if I was going to die for my country, by god, I was gonna die warm and with a full set of limbs for my momma to cry over. Two scouts come nearby and I laid into them with what I had left, hitting the first square in the back, who yelled, 'I'm hit! I'm hit!' It was the 11-year old, and I was like, good christ, I just bagged my first child of war. Why is hell so awfully goddamned cold?

There were moments when the shots were tearing up the space around me that I had no choice but to run blindly into the underbrush, and I dove over fallen cedars, and tore through blackberry brambles and the snowberries grabbed my ankles and my shins bore into forgotten barbed wire, and I found myself lying on my back, in a patch of ferns. As the footsteps closed in, I tried to think thoughts of my true love, but my head was then filled with numerous voices asking, 'Who's this, then?' I stood straight up and took two shots to the chest before things got dicey.

I had hidden a twelve pack of Molson in with my gear, which made the long, cold walk back to van somewhat less painful, because by god, if I was gonna die for a mistake, I was at least gonna die with a half-drunk grin on my face for my momma to cry over.

My biggest fear upon getting home was bolting awake in the middle of the night and holding a knife to the darkness in a full bore sweat, but fortunately, all I had at my disposal to defend me from the nightmares was my PDA, and fortunately fortunately, I had some emails which forced me from my delirium because, wow, people!

I woke up to the sound of birds hitting my window. I know it means something. I just don't want to say it out loud.