Harrowing, I tell you. Absolutely harrowing.

Better late than never. DH is home, and has been with me for the past nine days. Meaning tomorrow I'll be taking him to SOI at Camp Pendleton and we won't see each other for another month or more.

And, you know what? I have better things to do than hang around the fence of a military installation and risk getting shot at.

There's a lot to say about what I've been through in the past months, when I've been absent from my keyboard, but I just realized that this is possibly the last evening I'll spend with him for four months (though hopefully only one)

So have a look over these couple photos from the past ten days:





(Ugh, there is an absolute dearth of good images of us together... The first is from family day, the second is from... eating out with my parents a few days ago)

someone got a phone call....

Not me! Well, I got one last week, and I've been meaning to write about it.

But my father in law got a call tonight (DH thinking that it was too late to call me... yeah right!)... from PFC DH!!!

Yeah, just over two weeks before graduation, and my MAN is already Private First Class.

How awesome is that?

Quick Crosspost

I was just writing to DH that it's been a long time--

That's as far as I got before I put down my pen and reached for the laptop to write this post.

Because what I was telling him is that it's been a long time since I've posted to any of my blogs. I do so so so much writing to DH that I never have much left over for blogging. And since I'm in my era of hedonism I haven't forced myself to update.

But I'm doing fine. Having a chill time, doing lots of cooking, drawing, and reading. The things I love.

The letters I'm sending to DH seem to be getting longer. Sometimes I wonder if I'm overwhelming him. I still go two weeks or more at a stretch without hearing from him. The last letter I got was long and wonderful, though. Here's the extra special bits:

It's kind of crazy here [at Pendleton] since our DIs are able to get
away with ITing us [obscene amounts of pushups] more due to the lack
of officers compared to MCRD but! the good news is I'm pretty
unscathed by it. Being the platoon Picasso gets me out of a LOT of
trouble, since all the DIs need me, if they want drawings. ... Anyway,
I'm drawing every day now, sometimes hours at a time. My senior DI is
having me plot some paintings for him and some other DIs so I'll be
learning to use acrylics. Never thought bootcamp would teach me this
much about art!

The stuff I've been drawing isn't my super best, simply due to the
conditions I'm drawing in (literally hunched in a corner feet away
from DIs thrashing people and throwing things all over) but it's been
steadily improving. Also, I'm known as "Nickelodeon" to most of the
company DIs, since usually all they know is that I did something for
Aatar, so I've been having them come out of nowhere ASKING me if I'll
draw them, their motorcycles, batman, etc.

I'm also starting to be put on a different schedule from the rest of
the platoon. Like I do the required training with them, drill, rifle
stuff, most of the PT and Knowledge classes, but whenever the platoon
is doing less vital things I usually end up at the scribe's desk
drawing, or drawing in the Duty Hut, which is the mysterious DI lair
only a few recruits get to behold.

The only way it could've been a better letter was if he had been more responsive to my letters. In eight half-pages, he only references things I've sent him twice. The give and take, question and reply, is what is so great about our communications at all other times.

I wonder if he doesn't get to write to me more because he's so amazing and doing special projects for the DIs. Annoying!

But I'm doing fine. Keeping in touch with friends, especially one new and one old who keep me sane. Aspects of the situation are annoying, but I can't change most of them so I do my best to keep them from getting under my skin.

Here's some art I spent several hours on today.

He is so lucky

How awesome am I? (just kidding)

That's the back of the piece of watercolor paper that went into DH's letter today. (The front had other painting doodles.) The whole thing is about 3.5 inches tall, and I've been happily painting and listening to an audiobook for God-only-knows how long.

My favorite is the cow.

Now to mail it and get to bed!

Hedonathon, Days 1 and 2

I went into an odd spiral late Saturday night, trying, as usual, to understand my place in the world. The typical arguments came through my mind about limbo, whether or not I can be a productive member of society, so on and so forth. I circled again and again, trying to discern what responsibilities I have to other people and what obligations in my mind are fabrications for myself.

In the end, I decided to strip down the things I require of myself to the bare minimum: keeping the kitchen clean for my hosts, writing letters to DH, and keeping myself clean and healthy.

Other than that, I'm planning on spending March doing only whatever the heck I feel like.

Don't want to clean my room? Fine, sleep in. Don't feel like doing yoga? Read a book without guilt. Not in the mood to flog myself into working on a project nobody else cares about? Not gonna try!

In the past I've tried to fight my lack of responsibilities. I've felt so guilty about "doing nothing" with my life that I've made up things to work on, but even when I can point and say "I'm doing this", nobody seems to care that much. For a month, or at least until I get sick of it, I'm going to revel in my freedom, in this forced vacation.

This sounds extremely childish, to you, doesn't it? I don't really care, because I can't figure out a decent way to be a grown-up, with 31 days here, 7 days there, 10 days around, 3 weeks at home, then another handful of weeks somewhere else entirely. I used to think it was bad trying to establish myself when never living in one town for more than a year? HA.

So, you know what? I'm going to sleep when I want to, draw when I feel like it, paint what sounds fun, and spend many, many hours on the couch reading and writing bad poetry. And make a lot of food. I like cooking, and people around here enjoy what I make.

At one point I looked forward at my hedonism marathon and said "I'm going to do as little as possible for as long as possible", but I think that statement is false. Doing as little as possible would probably involve me forcing myself to be bored and unproductive on the internet during periods of time when what I want to be doing is drawing.

Art will get done. Maybe not the arts I expected of myself a month ago, but still arts. And when it doesn't get done, I'm not really going to care.

Quandry

If a man refuses to move in a forest and no one is there to persuade him, is he being stubborn?

This reminds me of another day

Extra-alone today. The vacant spaces are more vacant. It's hard to write at someone else's computer. Even if all the web pages are the same and the keys are in the same places on the keyboard, it is an unfamiliar stage I am not at home on.

No letter today. It's been a full two weeks since I've heard anything, and three weeks since the last letter. Once I've checked the mail and counted these numbers on my fingers, it's hard to look away from them and move on with my day.

The fact that an extra person was spending a few days hear earlier this week helped keep my mind off the lack of word from DH, and the house is extra-empty now. The back door is open as the weather is a little warmer. An unfamiliar wind sweeps through the rooms I haunt, changing everything to be a bit less familiar.

Earlier, as I sat with my cup of tea, listening to a drone that sounded like an airplane, but got neither closer nor farther away, I mentally compared today to a day last year when I was most angry with DH. I don't even recall what month it was in, but it involved the Marines, naturally.

DH had met with a recruiter in my home town, but didn't like the vibe of the place, so searched neighboring towns for other USMC offices. The one he found was about 20 miles away. When he went for his first time meeting the Staff Sargent who would walk him through the next several months, DH dropped me off at a bookstore.

When we said goodbye, it was early in the evening. My end of the story doesn't have many details or hold much interest. I wandered around looking at books for a couple hours. I sent him text messages after about two hours that went unanswered. Calls to DH went straight to voicemail. Around 8 the recruiting office was called, but no one picked up. I got worried, called my mom (we were staying with my parents at the time). I remember pacing around the store, clutching my phone in one hand, waiting for it to ring.

More strongly I remember sitting outside, at a metal table in the darkness. I was cold and anxious. Waiting for DH's car, then eventually waiting for my mom to pick me up. My mind tried not to go over any of the possibilities of why I didn't hear back from DH, tried not to consider anything but "he's still at the office, they just didn't hear the phone ring."

At home it was getting later. Four hours since I had heard from him? Since he had dropped me off at a bookstore? I talked with a couple friends, heart beating too fast to be tactful or clear about what was going on (sorry about that, Draco).

I think it was around nine when I finally got a text from DH. It was short, few details, he was on his way home. I called him right away, and boy did he get an earful from me. Primarily for texting when there were several frantic voicemails from me, but also for leaving me at a bookstore for four hours and having his phone off.

His end of the story was more interesting than mine. DH had turned off his phone to take a placement test, and had neglected to turn it back on as he talked with the recruiters. They were in a back room with no clock and no windows; he had lost track of time.

I cooled down pretty quickly, especially after he got home and I could use my angry voice and my angry eyes to tell him where he went wrong. But the incident still gave me early negative experiences with the USMC. I do my best not to hold it against them, such things wouldn't be rational. I'm not always a rational creature, though.

Today is not an anxious day. I'm not worried about DH. I know where he is, and I know that I would hear if anything was wrong. It's still excruciating, though, to go so long without hearing from him. Last night I re-read the few letters I've gotten so far. I wish I could re-hear the phone call I got two weeks ago.

At least we're more than halfway through. As of tomorrow I'll be inside the 40 day countdown. Actually, right now I have 40 days until Family Day. Forty-one until graduation. More than a month, but not much more.

FUBAR!!

So my computer is totally borked. Hopefully not irreversibly so, but irreversibly under current circumstances and conditions. I will be scarce at least for the next 40 days. After that... who knows.

I'll still have email access and may post from time to time, but I'm mostly looking at this as an opportunity to do lots of art with fewer distractions.

I will miss you, internet.

Around my neck

Yesterday as I was removing my necklaces to take a shower, this one broke a little. It's just hemp string, so I tie it on every morning. It still fits, but as the string continues to fall apart, I may need to find a replacement. For the string.

Seeing the broken bit on the bathroom counter this morning, my mind quickly hopped along the rails of association and reminded me of the significance of this simple necklace of a ceramic bear bead.

I've had the bead since 2005 and of course there have been attachments to it since, well, it's a bear, and bears have been one of my animals for years. But this particular necklace gained special significance since early April 4, 2006.

I was sitting in my car with DH; it was probably night. We were in the parking lot of his mom's apartment complex, and it was the last time I was going to see my faux-ancé* for a whole six. I had applied to Savannah College of Art and Design, and my parents were taking me back there to check out the school and the city. That was the first time in our budding romance that we had been apart for so long, possibly the second time since we had met.


(*We did a fake engagement for April Fool's day... then got real engaged less than a month later.)

In any case, DH and I were spending a few more minutes together before I had to drive up to my parents' house. I had a couple small tokens to give him before the long separation. One was a ceramic bear bead, twin of my own, for him to hold on to while I was gone. In retrospect I can't tell if it was sweet or exceedingly egocentric. I'll have to ask DH when I see him again. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.

But I still wear mine and think of him, more appropriate than ever, now that we're out of contact again. This separation, however, is much more excruciating than that one was. (And have I mentioned it's been more than a week since I've heard from him? Again?)

As short as the string that bear hangs on is, I like how it lands in the hollow of my throat.



The other, uneven, cord you see is for the other necklace I have with strong DH associations. But they have a much happier origin. The first time he and I went to the local Renaissance Faire, he bought me a pendant. It was from the booth where you pick out the image and the metal, then they use a large pounding contraption to imprint it right there in front of you.




Bear on one side, lion on the other. Even if astrology is something I laugh about, I am a Leo.

I love the weight of it, and how it absorbs heat through contact with my skin. Occasionally feeling something warm and heavy resting against my chest is a small reminder of my husband.

For good measure and a full inventory of the jewelry I wear every day: our rings.




From bottom to top: My wedding band, my engagement ring (the middle one's a sapphire in light blue, bastardized by bad lighting), and DH's wedding band. I'm holding onto it till he's out of boot camp.

Memo To Myself

This was written and posted to my LJ back in August. I planned on updating it for more relevancy to my current situation, but a) I'm not super-rejoiceful right now and b) the original was better than I remembered.

Dear Upset-Annie,

I know you're not there right now, but you will be some day, and I, Happy-Annie, am here to help you out.

How do I know you'll be there? And how can I help you out? The answers are one in the same: I, the current Happy-Annie have been, in the past, Upset-Annie. But I'm not anymore. I'm not you, Upset-Annie. And eventually you won't be yourself anymore.

Remember this, put on some music (even if it's emo) and go draw something. Or snuggle someone (hopefully DH!!!). Start something small and creative that you'll get carried away with.

Don't enjoy yourself too much, though, Upset-Annie. Your days are numbered.

Sincerely,
Happy-Annie

I added the bit about the music. I forgot it the first time around.

I highly encourage any and all of you to follow suit the next time you're in a good mood and write a note to your foul-mooded future selves.

Before I forget

Thank you to those who leave comments. Even if I don't reply, or you don't hear from me for a few weeks, I do appreciate you taking the time.

Even when people tell me things I don't like hearing or don't want to believe or can't accept at the moment, it's better to be frustrated by communication than frustrated by none. :)

Faithlessness

As we inch towards the second Holy Day of February (date of our first kiss coming up soon), I'm stuck too deeply in the murk of the present to take strength from the glories of the past.

I'm in another one of those long silences where it hurts to keep track of days. I didn't get a letter last week. I did get a phone call, and a surprisingly long one at that, but instead of being motivating, it pitched me down a long slope that I'm only now rolling to the bottom of.

Remember that scene in Princess Bride when first Westly, then Buttercup tumble down a hill? A lot like that, except none of the romantic and hilarious context.

I admit, it's possible that my biochemistry got the best of me and brought out the worst in me over the past few days and I didn't do enough to combat it. Instead I stayed mostly in my room, mostly watching movies and TV shows. Mostly funny ones. I did a lot of sleeping, too.

But that is the past and I shall speak of it no more right now.

What concerns me is the future. My future.

I've lost the faith I once had that I can be a successful artist, or in any way make a decent living on my creativity. When I reach this point, invariably I despair that I will be a productive member of society within the next year.

Feeling useless isn't new to me. It happens whenever I lose direction in my life, which accounts for at least half the time I've been married.

I waited for DH to get accepted to art school.
I waited for DH to find a studio job.
I waited for DH to get into the Marines.
I'm now waiting for DH to get out of boot camp.
Then I'll wait for him to get out of MOS training.

I've been waiting two and a half years. What's another 6 months?

Don't mistake that list for me playing the victim, or blaming him for my struggles. This is just the way things have gone, and I don't think the decisions we made were bad ones. Maybe I wish that DH had worked more at getting into SCAD, but not nearly enough to pinpoint that as the point where my future path evaporated.

For these past few years I've held onto the mantra "keep working on art, keep working on art", believing that I'd find out how to apply or further develop my self-taught skills once things settled down.

But a number of factors in the past week have eroded my confidence that a life of creativity could ever support me. The break in momentum is one. What was supposed to be a week off is now eleven days, and no proof it won't be more. Perhaps to my detriment I've been following the news of the economy and, convinced that art is a luxury, can't imagine people paying me for it when things are so tough.


I'm rootless, with no home, little money, and no constant, frequent, or even predictable contact with another human who can keep me grounded. But I'm not free, either. I'm not single and able to follow my dreams and pursue my goals and pursue opportunities to create a foundation for myself.

I don't think things would be much better back in CA, but on days like yesterday, I'm really not sure.

The Holy Days of February

It's hard to be sure if Valentine's Day itself has any special power for me.

Three years ago when I met DH, we were instantly friends, but not instantly exclusive. That Valentine's day I exchanged music with one guy friend, and had another take me out to lunch, but the interactions with DH, through email though they were, really threw off sparks.

Back then DH lived at his dad's orange grove, affectionately called "The Ranch". Early February, being citrus season, meant I was gifted with fresh oranges on one of the random evenings I spent with him. Thus, when Neil Gaiman, beloved author, posted a poem involving oranges on Valentine's Day, I passed it and additional "thank you"s along to DH (of course, then he was just "Dear Friend"):

Roses are red,
Violets are purple,
Which is a very hard word to rhyme
And makes me happy that on February the 14th we don't traditionally have to give each other oranges

Soon enough he wrote back to me...

I'm so glad you liked them! I spent last night trying to think of something to write for you, but I just couldn't come up with anything. So I went and put your name [[replaced here with not-my-name]] through the Wesley Willis Song Generator. Hope you like.

Annie Light really whoops a donkey's ass.
You is so pretty.
You can really rock your ass off.
Annie Rush is excellent.
You are so good to me in the long run.

ANNIE LIGHT!!!
ANNIE LIGHT!!!
ANNIE LIGHT!!!
ANNIE LIGHT!!!

You are my special screaming hyena.
You can really rock Saddam Hussein's ass.
You really whoop a snow lepoard's ass.
You are so righteous in the Holy Ghost.
Annie Light really whoops a camel's ass.


ANNIE LIGHT!!!
ANNIE LIGHT!!!
ANNIE LIGHT!!!
ANNIE LIGHT!!!

About 57,700 people like Annie Light.
She makes the crowds roar like a sea monster.
I like Annie Light a lot.
Right on brother.
I like you well.

Rock over London,
Rock on Chicago.

Be a Pepper - drink Dr. Pepper.

Boy if that didn't make me head-over-heels giddy for him!!

The next day (February 15, 2006) I went back to the Ranch for "dinner, cider, a movie, and catching the sunset".

Yes, he cooked for me. No, it was not a date.

I'm sure it wasn't a date, you see, because we were watching the movie in a bedroom (his brother's... long story), and when I stretched out on the bed near DH, he shifted around so as to be sprawled in the opposite direction, head at the other end of the bed.

In retrospect he swore to me that it wasn't a conscious act, but one he regrets. I hadn't taken it personally (I don't take many things personally), the memory is merely a matter of great amusement for me.

Later that night, after the movie, after more talking, after it was time for me to trek back down to my mundane life at the bottom of the mountain, I said bid DH good night and got in my car. Maybe we hugged, maybe we didn't. I pulled out the long driveway, turned around in the street. As I shifted into gear to go down that long and winding road, DH caught my eye as he ran towards me. I rolled down my window.

The exact words he used to ask me on a date escape me, although I'd wager he didn't use the word "date". All DH asked was if I wanted to go out with him after he passed his driving test. I remember the way I smiled, the way I nodded and said "Yeah, sure", and grinned all the way down the hill.

In retrospect it may be strange that I choose to celebrate this day, February 15. Nothings began that day, but I suppose what started New Year's Eve reached a critical mass, a particular velocity and both DH and I knew it.

I had food. It was DELICIOUS

Catching up on a few things.

This, by the way, is why it's often hard to get any blogging done: Saw a post from my Sis-in-Law on twitter, decided to give her a call (I've made about 9* outgoing calls in the last 3 months, and most of them were to my mom). Based on the call, I decided I need to write to DH, and my brother, and do a round of blog-updating.

(*Oh, and in the process of checking that number I saw I missed a call and had to take a break to google the number, as I didn't recognize it... maybe a wrong number)

I'm not a scatterbrain, I just try to do things simultaneously and trip over myself.


In any case, I'll try put all of those things on hold to recount some of what's happened recently.

Last Thursday I got a letter from DH. It was okay. Short, and not a lot of news, personal or otherwise. I was frustrated and tried not to think about it to much, but buckle myself in for another week of waiting.

Friday, however, I got another letter from DH, and this one was twice as long as the previous. Hooray! I didn't tell anyone I got the second letter for a few days, wanting to spend some time "alone" with DH. It's about time I got over that, though, and scanned/transcribed some of those letters.

Saturday was a quiet day at home. I think. Most of my journaling is still in letters to DH, so I'd have to consult those to know for sure. Certainly nothing noteworthy happened. I watched Battlestar Galactica. I know that much. I also spent an hour or so simply relaxing, listening to music, and working through some things that haunted my mind. (I'll try to revisit this)

On Sunday Mrs. Host, her best friend, and I went for a tour of parks in Nashville. We took cameras and hit up the mosaic dragon at Fannie Mae Dees Park for a picnic. I was especially eager to go along as DH had requested that I send photos of myself, and had none since my arrival in TN.



It was quite warm and there were many people about, but all the plants still looked winter-dead. the contrast made me feel like it was some sort of post-apocalyptic scene.



Then we went to Centennial Park, which was beautiful and full of people playing frisbee.



Ah, no people in that photo, but some nice shapes and shadows on the back steps of the replica Parthenon. Here are some people.



If you promise not to reveal my super secret identity, you can check out more of my photos from the day on flickr.


That night, and also Monday, I dealt with the fallout of taking a week long break from updating Lily and Wyett. Or making progress painting it, either. I've had a growing frustration in the past week as I've struggled with having to change materials (and find replacement materials), and deal with the break in painting/posting momentum.

I sought advice from artistic friends, both on what materials I should be looking for, and also advice on dealing with a webcomic hiatus, which tends to have a very bad reputation (as a concept). Since then I've come to peacefully accept that Lily and Wyett is on hold until I make it to the big art store in Nashville and find hot press watercolor paper, and I'm doing my best to spend the week well.

Monday night I had an amazing experience while drawing. It was too good to bury down in the depths of this post. I celebrated the nice weather by playing in traffic, too. (Walking to the drug store to pick up photos.)

Tuesday was my "Valentines Day". After an afternoon of being terrifically domestic (to the extent that I washed my sheets!), I spent the evening painting something for DH and listening to the All Songs Considered gang chat about love songs. The whole episode.

I included three photos with the painting and DH's letter for yesterday. I also put two stamps on the envelope, just in case,

Today I've done various things as wards against the plague that's hit both other members of the household. OJ before bed, sleeping as long as I needed to, light exercise, ginger tea... Hopefully if I keep this up I'll manage to stay healthy! Having a cold without DH here to bring me soup and food would be quite awful.

Lover's Song

I spend a lot of time listening to podcasts on my mp3 player. When I went to brush my teeth (before making the last post), I skipped ahead to a music podcast because I didn't feel like listening to anything long or news-related.

That was nice (blues-y). The next one up, as I typed up the other post, was this edition of NPR's Second Stage.

I hear Aidan Moffat singing "da da da daaa" into my ears, and the song, recorded in layers using only his voice (and maybe strings), follows:

I sing my lover's song
last thing at night
it helps my heart to rest
it helps me sleep the best
I sing my lover's song
when it is late
bad news but I don't care
I whistle everywhere

....

I sing my lover's song
from far away

....

I sing my lover's song
all day each day

....

The "...." means there were lyrics I couldn't quite make out. But I could understand the important and incredibly fitting words just fine.

You can stream the song from NPR, or download an mp3 of it from this blog.

tired and frustrated

So there were the lows and then there were the mediums... Today was mostly good, I just hit a wall of frustration in the last hour or so. Strathmore papers lost some of my affection today.

Going to sleep delightfully early.

My mom would want me to say I got a letter from DH today. I did, it was delightful. I'm savoring its secrets for a day or so before I show it around. There's no big news, it just feels less like my husband is writing to me if I immediately pass it on to other people.

Should probably read that one more time before bed.

Something else good

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't properly said "HAY, I'M DOING THIS, GO TAKE A LOOK". But, hey, I'm doing this thing! Go take a look!

Lily and Wyett is how I'm keeping myself occupied while DH is gone. I post two little watercolor illustrations a day, currently with 19 under my belt (and another 9 ready for uploading). The beginning of the series can be read in order here, and the second chapter (cleverly titled "Day One") starts below.





The chilly dawn seeps over the sill to illuminate a gift
from Wyett: a physical echo of his voice saying her name.

Lily smiles.



Lily also finds a scroll tied with a yellow ribbon.

Wyett had left a map.


Click here to read the rest of Day 1

Remembering something good

I'm still having a tough time. Did a lot of crying last night, caught in a loop of being so ashamed of how broken up I am without DH that I don't want to have to face him again. What kind of logic is that? How irrational is it to think that he's going to lose respect for me because I'm struggling to remain upright since I miss him so much.

My eyes are still raw from last night's meltdown that I didn't get enough sleep after, so I'm going to do my best not to think about it for a few hours at least. Until I get my feet under me again, I might not be online so much.

But the point of this post is an interlude and distraction.

Trying to write script for Lily and Wyett today, I was flipping through an old journal to find notes I made about it in the past. In addition to what I was looking for, I found the rough draft of this poem I wrote mid-December.

Geography

If our bed was North America,
you'd be the Rocky Mountains
with a firm grasp on the
Mountain and Pacific time zones,
your head is pillowed
in the snows of the north,
your feet (always hot)
jut from the blanket's embrace.

I could lie in
the Great Plain states,
uncluttered, smooth, inviting,
or leave that vacant land between us,
nestling my body
in the Appalachians,
and dream the wall's a window,
and I'm gazing across the Pond.

Instead, I squeeze myself
onto California
(though covers don't reach)
curling against your slopes
with my back to the sea
and feel the gentle, lapping
waves of wind.

You probably don't have to look at a map to know I played it fast and loose with the actual geography. But the memories are good and real, and good, real memories are what I need right now.

Day of Grace

After a pretty hellish week, I took today off to finish my book, watch some of the SuperBowl, and spend some dedicated "husband time" writing to DH and drawing for him, too.

Here's an excerpt from the book I was reading. Seeing as how everything Edgar Rice Burroughs has written is in public domain, it's on Google Books, too.

For a little bit of context... John Carter of Virginia and Dejah Thoris of Helium (a city on Mars) have been married 22 years. For 10 of them they were together, for 10 he was stuck on Earth, and since he returned she's been in constant captivity (kidnapped), always just out of John Carter's reach. He's always fighting to reach her and has been supposedly killed several times. Right now he's been captured during yet another attempt to free her from the captivity of a king who wants to marry her. John Carter, unarmed, just rushed 50 guards to get to his wife who is being restrained next to the throne of the king (Salensus Oll). She then makes this speech.

"Think you, Salensus Oll, that the wife of such as he is," she cried, "would ever dishonor his memory, were he a thousand times dead, by mating with a lesser mortal? Lives there upon any world such another as John Carter, Prince of Helium? Lives there another man who could fight his way back and forth across a warlike planet, facing savage beasts and hordes of savage men, for the love of a woman?

"I, Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, am his. He fought for me and won me. If you be a brave man you will honor the bravery that is his, and you will not kill him. Make him a slave if you will, Salensus Oll; but spare his life. I would rather be a slave with such as he than be Queen of Okar."

I found that so touching I copied it, long hand, into the letter I'm writing to DH.

I miss him. :(

Day 18 (again) - Deep breathing

The dogs seem very anxious and restless today. It's entirely possible they're getting it from me. I'm restless, too, willing to pace with them through the kitchen, the living room, and down the hallway that brings us back to the kitchen, over and over again.

Of course, the pups aren't as focused or capable as I am and constantly pester me to be let inside or back out. At certain points it feels like all I can do to walk back and forth in my room, as though passing through that one point near the middle will, at some point, transport me to some different place, some different situation.

Last week I liked these afternoon hours of solitude. I could put my headphones on, sit at the kitchen table, draw and paint, ignore the dogs, and get pleasing amounts of work done. Today I've sat down a number of times, brush in hand, and simply can't make the usual flow mindset stick. I've made tiny, tiny amounts of progress, but my heart is beating fast and I worry my hands will shake at the wrong moment.

Right now, all this week, the times I'm alone in the house are the worst. Every weekday there are at least four hours during which I'm by myself (save for the dogs), and I don't know if I'm going to overload from the internal pressure of things I want to discuss or express, or collapse from the internal vacuum of not getting the attention I'm used to.

Here's something that makes me laugh and cry at the same time from the wikipedia page of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs (a part of my psychology class that has stuck with me since high school):

The lower four layers of the pyramid are what Maslow called "deficiency needs" or "D-needs". With the exception of the lowest needs, physiological ones, if the deficiency needs are not met, the body gives no indication of it physically, but the individual feels anxious and tense.

Haha, you think Dr. Maslow?

I realize I'm repeating myself. This is the only thing I've been able to say this week. I know that.


Later on things got a little better, with people around and talking to my mom on the phone for about a half hour. At least I have high hopes for tomorrow. I'm just praying that next week isn't a repeat of this week.

My kind of meme

From all over, but most specifically the illustrious Vylar Kaftan

The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me!

My choice. For you.

This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

* I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!
* What I create will be with you in mind.
* It’ll be done sometime this year (2009).
* You have no clue what it’s going to be. It may be something written, some physical thing made, could be anything at all, but I will make it myself. It’s entirely my choice what it is. No quibbles, no refunds.
* I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.

Normally there's a catch down here about "you have to pass it on to get anything", but... nah. No conditions.

If you comment make sure I'm going to be able to find your email address!

I've posted this in two places, but am willing to take on 5 from each

Day... Ugh. 18?

I'm not going to lie. Week 3 is the hardest yet.

- Somehow the social activity (and lack of creative productivity) of Saturday and Sunday sent me into a lonesome, isolated tailspin that lasted all of Monday and Tuesday and definitely impacted Wednesday. (But things got better near the end.)

- My father-in-law and my parents both heard from DH but I haven't yet (I know I'm on the other side of the country, but that doesn't keep me from being petty.)

- FiL heard that DH had pneumonia for a while. :| (He's better now, it seems)

- Some of the other tidbits that my FiL passed on to me made me feel especially far apart and detached from DH.

- I failed to send DH a letter multiple days in a row.

Pulled apart and written down like that, none of it sounds like a big deal. I feel like I'm clutching onto rocks at the edge of a tall, high waterfall, and every oppressive or depressive moment hits me full in the face, threatening to drag me to my doom. Every difficult moment is seems to last forever, but when I look back, all of them are a small and distant pool far away from me.

Despite anguished days, the week seems to pass quickly.


I'm getting annoyed with the forum again, and all the women who still at least hear from their deployed husbands. I'm not annoyed with the individuals, just frustrated and feeling that ache of isolation. FIE.

Speaking of isolation, I've been pondering over the whole topic in my mind, over and over again, trying to uncover the roots of what and why and so on. Why am I being (in my head) an attention whore? What specific internal switches do I want to flip?

I'm very reflective and analytical, but despite these things giving me comfort and (apparently) insight, I wonder if all this psychology is really true and meaningful, or if I'm creating answers rather than finding them.

Is there really a difference between reactive socializing (with people who are around for their own reasons) or proactive socializing (with people who wouldn't be around without my input)? Does it really make a difference to have something outside my head to look forward to in the near (under 2 weeks) future?


On the radio today I heard that the point of novels is to ask questions, not answer them. *smirk*


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Photo credit: t.brumme

Day 15 - New sensation of empty

I am amused that the day I finally feel the need to talk about missing the physical contact with DH is the day I post that painting.

It struck me at odd moments over the weekend, the desire to reach out and touch. This might be because weekends are social times, hanging out with my hosts and their friends, here and in Nashville.

I've always missed my husband. All 15 days I've missed talking to him, missed the little affections between us. His primary "love language" is physical touch and over the past three years I've become fluent in it. More than the intimate aspects, I miss the casual proximity.

The feeling is similar to the dull ache when a vital element is missing from my food diet. In some location I can't pinpoint, I feel deficient. There's a sensation that comes from being close to someone familiar, an automatic relaxation from even platonic contact, and it's been over three years since I've gone more than two weeks without getting Vitamin Hug from any person, much less the most important person to me.

Ugh.

Letters! Finally!

I don't know if I should be laughing at that as much as I am.



DH is making Myst references. All is well in the world. :)

The anxiety, I think, is over. From here on out, I expect mostly impatience as he continually reminds me how much he misses me. :)

Weak vs. Soldiers

I listened to the most recent edition of PodCastle (fantasy fiction podcast) while doing the dishes today.

This week's story was Honest Man (you can listen at that link) by Naomi Kritzer. I've heard it before, although I'm not sure where. Maybe I read it last year when it was published in Realms of Fantasy?

In any case, while listening to "Honest Man" I found yet more proof that I'm really going through this, and that I'm a person with emotions, just like everyone else.

Early in the story (it begins during WWII) the main character, Iris, wonders if she should mention her boyfriend who is serving in the infantry to the man chatting with her in a diner. Even without me thinking deeply about what I was listening to, tears sprang to my eyes as I forged a bond of empathy with that fictional character.

Peppered throughout the rest of the story are other mentions of Iris's boyfriend, later her husband. Their relationship isn't a central aspect to the story, but each time Ben and Iris's marriage to him came up, I felt a pang of reflection as I saw glimpses of my future. The fact that Iris is based on the author's own grandmother probably contributes to the empathy quotient.

Hopefully when my DH is off at war, though, I won't have to wait months between letters.

(Catch up post) Guilty as charged.

"You sound like you're doing well"

I was. I am. I was feeling good then (last week), I am feeling good now. And if I get "meta" and look at myself from the outside, I actually feel bad--a little guilty--that I'm doing so well and feeling so good.

This sensation was especially strong last week when I imagined DH to be going through the toughest (mental) parts of his time at boot camp, and before I had any bad reactions to being away from him. Even now, after I've had a couple reality checks (getting mad at him once, getting homesick once), I occasionally feel guilty when I look forward to the following day. Is it right that I'm so optimistic and energetic? So productive and impressed with myself?


It's difficult to hang onto those good feelings when I think about DH. I worry that I'm disrespecting his struggle by overcoming my own so easily. It disturbs me, but he becomes less and less of a concrete person the longer I go without hearing from him. He's something of memory and theory that I haven't experienced since 4am of Monday last week.

Occasionally, mostly when I'm writing here, I try to visualize where he is at the moment, what he's doing, and the only references I have are clips of boot camp documentaries. Thinking about my husband as a stony-faced recruit having unintelligible gibberish yelled at him is not comforting. Even without the yelling, the thought of my husband standing at attention, unresponsive to anything around, disturbs me.

Ever since I heard from my father-in-law about the call he got from DH on the day DH left, my husband not responding or reacting to me is a major nightmare. Thankfully not one I dream while I sleep, but the words my father-in-law used to describe that phonecall made me very very thankful DH called his dad instead of me.

"Obviously, he was being controlled and I was unable to engage him in conversation," wrote my FiL.

Perhaps I'm being neurotic about semantics. I understand that the reality of it wasn't sadistic or extreme, but I'm happy to avoid any situation in which I am directly communicating with my DH, but he is unable to be his usual self.

The rest of the email from my father in law was more comforting:

But if I could read between his lines, he's secure in his own skin and that he'll let them (the drill sergeants) think he's fooled by their mind games, but he still has his "on" and "off" switch...........I'm sure you understand and can visualize.

And I can. DH worked in retail the eight months before he went to boot camp, so I'm well aware that he can subdue the best parts of his personality and get through what he needs to. Of course, I'm not used to him being like that around me.

It now occurs to me that it might have been strategy on DH's part to call his dad instead of me. We're not phone people, I was in a different time zone, and he had cleared it with me beforehand that he'd be calling one of his parents. All that aside, perhaps DH was protecting himself from punishment, knowing that if he heard my voice he wouldn't be able to stay "in character" (or rather, out of character). Maybe talking to me would have caused him to break form, which would have meant punishment.

*Grin*


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Photo credit: "toastiest"

Confidence

These three months (now less than three (<3)) are going to be a major lesson in confidence and self assuredness for me.

Now that DH is gone, I realize more than ever how much reassurance and support he is for me on a daily basis when we're together. The majority of support I get from him and nowhere else is related to my artistic endeavors. DH is amazing at pointing out what I do right and guiding me toward how to fix what I do wrong.

It often takes me a long time to trust someone's assessment of my art, and to be open to help with fixing things, I have to have a high opinion of their skills. I don't think I'm unique in this, but I have an odd mix of insecurity and defensiveness about my work. Mostly the former, though.

Several times in the past few days I've felt devastatingly awful about the watercolor illustrations I've been doing. It's a project I've been planning on spending most of these three months on. Any disruption of that plan, especially abandonment of it, will likely cause me to lose my bearings again. Being in that situation is not fun at all.

The one thought of determination that gets me through the bouts of self doubt and insecurity is that DH doesn't have anyone familiar to lean on, either. No doubt he's bonding with his boot camp buddies, and they'll develop a teamwork rapport, but he doesn't have, well, me there being reassuring and encouraging. If he can get through 12 weeks of physically and mentally demanding insanity without me, I can get through the terror and possible humiliation of creating and sharing artwork without him. Don't want to, but I can.



And since I'm uploading things, something for my mom:



It snowed a little more today, and I went outside in the super light flurry. Very cold to this SoCal girl, but I had my comfy old sweatshirt from home (thanks to my self-care package arriving today).

The reddish brown blob on the right is Moxie, one of the dogs here.

Heart Juice

A week or so ago Indiana Girl mentioned shopping for a Valentines care package for her deployed husband.

For the first time I wondered what it'll be like for the guys who are in relationships to be at boot camp on Valentine's Day. I don't often think of DH in a typical Valentines fashion... we sorta started dating the day after Valentines back in 06 (I look forward to telling that story on that anniversary), and haven't celebrated the 14th or the 15th in any extravagant way in the two years since then.

This year I'll probably send him letters/drawings as usual, and maybe a little painting to mark the occasion, but I'm more curious about what it might be like for guys/couples with a more mainstream view of the "holiday". Letters go in and letters come out, but with no other communication, no opportunities for packages, I wonder how it stifles (or enhances?) the day for involved couples.

BLEH.

Why did he have to go now? Why does he have to be gone for the first time during a part of the year when I'm naturally going to be looking back at what my life was like three years ago? I'll be alone and remembering the early days hanging out, remembering our first date, our first kiss, the april fools engagement... And then when he's in MOS school he'll miss our actual engagement and our wedding anniversary. Why couldn't he have left after that? Between June and December there are memories of good times, but nothing as anchored in chronology as much as all these memories of magical firsts.

I honestly believe that right now is the hardest time, the moments between parting and first contact. All my knowledge of DH feels obsolete. Sure, he'll still be the same man when I hear from him again, and when I see him again, but he's piling up new experiences that are a complete mystery to me. GRR.

Any day now, right?

Time Stand Still...? (Day 7)

Time Stand Still by Rush


(The audio is better in the music video version, but the visuals are just crazy)

lyrics, for the curious

And minor discovery: Amiee Mann did the female vocals (...on the album version), and played herself in the music video. The more you know!

Besides being one of my favorite songs, TSS is appropriate because I find myself wishing time would slow down for a minute or five or sixty. In the evenings I freak out that there are so few hours left in the day.

Shouldn't I be on the other side of things? Being glad each day is over because it hastens my return to CA and DH? But no, I'm wanting to accomplish as much as possible each day.


Didn't accomplish much yesterday, either, at least not in the objective, working-towards-goals sense. Spontaneous trips around town contribute to that, or, in yesterday's case, to Nashville, about 30 minutes away.

Something that did occur to me yesterday was a new mental plan for how to treat being apart from DH. I've created a fictional "tomorrow" for myself, a carrot on a stick to keep me moving forward. It's very simplistic, really, something that might have roots in a less modern society. DH isn't coming home today, so I tell myself I'll see him "tomorrow". The next time the sun rises, it'll be "today" again, and "tomorrow" is pushed off into an infinite future.

Another way of putting it: I have no chronological depth perception.

Thus, on good days, I tell myself "tomorrow! get lots done and be impressive!" Unfortunately, it doesn't work well on days that I fail to produce art on.

I talk like I'm old hat at this. It's been less than a week.

(catch up post) This isn't how I wanted to spend Saturday (Day 6) morning

None of my usual (civilian) haunts had much to offer me this morning (and I wasn't ready to get up), so I turned to the military side of my internet.

After a few dozen minutes browsing the forum for military spouses I frequent, I realized I didn't want to be there at all today. Maybe it's some wacky brand of denial, but it didn't feel helpful to "be around" people who might know what I'm going through.

I suppose I feel like I'm not "going through" anything at the moment. Yesterday was blissfully focused on the painting project I'm hoping will occupy (but not completely take over) my time.



There's a preview of it. I suppose you could call it a web comic. We'll see! Hopefully next week!

Day 4 - Some kind of order

I know, hilarious, right?



Things to write about (that don't already have drafts in the queue):

The First Call (TM) (and why I didn't want it)
Writing Letters: The new talking
Out of Touching
Feeling Bad (For Feeling So Good)

Four topics isn't so bad.

I would've knocked down at least "Feeling Bad" last night, except I ended up hanging out with Mrs. Host and her local friend, for dinner, dessert, and more.

Instead, 200 500 words on the DH I know and the DH I don't.


This train of thought came up as I engaged in a brief conversation with a friend of DH's I had no direct contact with until this friend sought me out on AIM earlier this week. DH had likely mentioned this person to me before, but not in enough detail for me to have a clear picture of this guy. Certainly I'd never met this friend as he lives on the East Cost.

In any case, this friend of DH's tells me how he misses the late night chats the two of them shared in recent months. My immediate (internal) reaction was a mild "did you just say that to me? Are you preaching to the preacher?". Luckily, as it's day 4, I'm pretty mellow about being apart from DH so far. The only reason I find it worth mentioning is because there are knots in my back and I miss having someone who knows how to work them out. (But this isn't the Out of Touching post)

Later in the conversation DH's friend mentions the wisdom and advice DH had given him. My reaction to this was a little more interesting.

Here's what a tiny, selfish, petulant, facetious part of me had to say: "But he's only allowed to be serious and sagacious with me. DH isn't supposed to mentor other people and be valuable to them. He's mine and I don't want to share his time and wonderfulness with anyone else! DH can be a playful goofball around other people, but I'm the one he's calm and serious with!"

I laugh at myself even as I have those thoughts. I find myself tangled between not wanting to define myself by DH, but still wanting to assert my importance to DH in his absence. There's not much around me on a day to day basis that validates my relationship to him. Well, I have our wedding rings and pictures and tokens, but nothing that's specifically to comfort me in this moment. There's no letter of "read this when I'm gone" or "open this while I'm at boot camp" or "listen to this when you miss me". There is his iPod that he packed with music for me, but I'm wishing for a more straightforward, accessible communique.

This is straying off message.

Hearing a testimonial from someone else about DH's value to them. My reaction wasn't just a silly, irrational flare of jealousy, but the picture of DH this guy was showing me was unexpected. It showed a side of my husband that I didn't know was active: the mentoring, brotherly side. Not that I think such things are beyond his ability, far from it. I know DH is these great things, but I didn't know he's these great things to other people right now.

Thinking there are things I don't know makes me feel more distant from him. Ugh.

Double Ugh. I'm getting really hurt and a little angry now that he didn't leave me anything more intimate than his mp3 player. I'm repressed so many legitimate feelings of loneliness, why do I have to get so emotional over something as small as this?


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Photo credit: Akash_K

Day 2 - Tennessee

Am here, safe and happy, despite being saddled with a wicked headache.

Last night I felt odd, like I didn't have enough words to describe what thing were like. Maybe most of my words are still in transit from CA. Or maybe I have to start over.

Will do so... after I get rid of this blasted headache.

T Minus Eight Hours

Shouldn't we be sleeping? No, I don't think we could.

Still living in the moment, enjoying it. Still not freaked out.

I crunched some financial numbers and ended up going through the emotional wringer, but that has passed. Nothing that can be done about it right now.

It helps that he's not going straight to the Depot (or wherever the first phase happens), and won't even be there till after I've landed in TN and am in my own unfamiliar world (though a much friendlier one).

I can feel the reality of boot camp at the edges... just beyond my peripheral vision, lurking in the wings. Don't really want to focus on that right now. I prefer to focus on dinner, snuggles, a little sleep, and kissing him goodbye in... just over seven hours.

T Minus One Day

Last night DH asked me to wake him up when I got up.

This morning I woke up at 7 and he told me he didn't fall asleep till close to 2 and asked for an extra hour (of course, dear :) ).

Now it's the hour later and I have to make the determination to let him sleep more and write about the party last night and how I'm doing right now, or wake him up so he can make me breakfast.

Or I can wake him up and ask if he wants more sleep.

...

He asked for 30 minutes more. Writing it is!

I have about 12 posts in draft format, some of which are time-sensitive for times that have passed. I still plan to write them up to the best of my ability.

----

Part of me is very very calm. Not worried at all. Actually, that's wrong. Most of me is not worried at all. The closer we get to DH leaving, the more confident I am that I'll hold it together and be just fine while he's gone. So fine that I won't even need this blog as a coping mechanism.

Not to say that I won't miss him, I will! But for all I love him, I doubt that I'm going to miss him in a gut wrenching way. I tell myself "change is coming, nothing will ever be the same", but deep down I am very assured that this exact situation will come up again. I'm pretty sure that during his 10 day leave in April, we'll spend time here at my parent's house. He'll be sleeping, I'll be up early writing or surfing the net.

Five percent of my mind is going crazy... because it thinks it should be. That part is aghast at how calm most of my brain is.

Ten percent of my mind is calm, but looks warily at the neurotic five percent, wondering if maybe that 5% is right, and this is something to freak out about.

The remaining 85% is chill. Confident in DH's ability to hack it (physically) in boot camp, and his ability to play the mental game. Also confident in my own ability to be happy and productive in his absence.

(Writing time is up, reflections on the send-off party later)

(Yestermorning post) T Minus 2 Days

I'm hiding. DH's impending departure doesn't feel real yet. I haven't felt a huge stone drop into my stomach or gotten so wired that I can't eat. Not yet.

DH mentions his nervousness occasionally (mostly when asked), but it seems like he's passed a number of physical milestones in getting ready for departure. Quitting his day job was one move towards making it real. Getting his ship date was another. Clearing the decks of commissions was likely a big one. On the other hands, I haven't taken big steps. Except for how I relate to DH and talk to him, not much has changed for me in the past weeks. He's jumping down cliffs, I'm walking down a gentle slope to the ocean. I wonder if I'll feel a big change before he's gone.


That;s not to say that the impending changes aren't on my mind. To lampshade what I believe is the most annoying habit I've picked up in the past couple weeks, it's been hyper-vigilance when it comes to *things*, mainly consumables. That is to say, when DH writes out a grocery list for my mom, I look over his shoulder and say, "Do we really need more XYZ, we're leaving soon and my parent's don't eat it." Or I try to tweak our orders at restaurants so there won't be leftovers (hardly ever works).

Thankfully, DH doesn't act annoyed when I bug him about managing stuff with departing in mind. I don't just nudge him about food, it's an affliction that definitely bleeds over into other things. Once I actually asked him, "Do you really need to buy new razors? You're leaving in less than a week..."

Note: I only did this because:
a) I'm very frugal and we're living on savings and
b) I'm always thinking about what I have to pack away

(Epilogue: I let him buy the razors. He does need them and I use them for shaving my legs, so can make use of the new ones.)

I don't think that's an extreme example, either. Consider our clothing situation: He won't take anything with him, and I can only take a portion of mine with me. I feel very strange carrying dirty laundry when I travel (at least on an outbound trip), and equally strange leaving dirty clothes in storage. Add this to my attempts to pack with any degree of finality more than 3 days before my trip, and I'm more neurotically "clothes conscious" than I've ever been in my life. And it has nothing to do with actually wearing clothes.

Deep down, I believe this is much ado about nothing. Of course there will be a load of laundry done on the last day, and of course all the packing and organizing will work out satisfactorily without me pulling an all-nighter. I expect that a lot of it is stress and energy directed along a tangent. As long as I'm not able to let go of things and relax, it's probably healthier this way, rather than channeling it towards other people and creating tension there.

But, really, relaxing would be the best thing to do.

T Minus Three Days

The Marines, being the Marines, switched DH's MEPS check-up from today (Friday) to tomorrow at the last minute.

The good news is that I now have him to myself today and Sunday. The bad news is he might be in lousy shape for being sociable tomorrow evening. His recruiter will pick him up around 4am for the drive into LA.

It's also bittersweet for us to have two days to spend as we wish because we left our car with DH's dad yesterday. Fortunately we don't have to go anywhere to snuggle! He's still sleeping right now, though, so I don't feel bad for poking around the internet.

As usual, some of that poking included time on a forum for military wives. Someone asked a question that I'd been wondering about for some time: How long is your DH in for?

Reading through the many replies, I wasn't surprised by what I saw. Overwhelmingly (ratio of about 3:1), the husbands were either planning to stay in for more than 10 years or had already served 10 years or more. The majority of this group are clearly making a career out of military service, some for 20 years, some for 30 (and others falling in between).

In contrast to the 76 votes for 10 years or more, only 23 answers (at the time of my counting) indicated 10 years or less, and some of these weren't confident that their spouses wouldn't stay in longer. Also, a number of responses fit the format of 'He's done about 8 so far and we're really not sure...' Depending on the exact wording, I dumped them into column A or B, but 10 replies were too on the fence for me to make a ruling, even for a study as unscientific as this.

Similarly, of the 76 answers that said their DH would remain in the military for 10 years or more, a substantial portion had 10 or fewer years of service completed, but were confident about their future, but left open the possibility of minds being changed.


Once again, I feel like someone on the fringes, and wonder if this is why there are fewer resources for people who are just getting into the military. When you know it's a job and experience rather than a career move, are you less inclined to seek out the community? Many people go to college for longer than the 4 years of active duty DH and I are headed into. Are the lifers wanting to tell me, "Four years is really a short time; stop thinking it's such a big deal"?

It is a big deal in your 20s, though. A large percentage of life, and the sort of commitment required is unprecedented. (I am of the opinion that while marriage is a big and important commitment, the military demands more sacrifices of personal freedom.)

It's a big deal, but I'm surviving, and will continue to do so.



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Photo credit: dimtzanos

Prior to Parting #1 - START EARLY

While Mary Schmich's primary piece of living advice is to "wear sunscreen", my main bit of advice for couples heading down the road towards boot camp is to start early in planning on things to do before he leaves. This includes both parties and activities to partake of before he ships out, and also putting together something to keep her company in his absence (specifics forthcoming).

Let me reiterate my main point: Plan Early

If your delayed entry process is more than two or three months this is especially important. Despite knowing since July that my DH would be leaving near the end of the year, I let myself ignore the passing of the days until there were only two weeks left. All my ideas and plans that started with "I'd love to...." went out the window and I had to slash my expectations.

Also, it is inevitable that things will come up at the last minute and the final week before he ships will get jammed up with appointments with people he doesn't see often enough, or family BBQs. These are sometimes events out of your control (especially the family BBQs), so be proactive when you can, such as a get-together with friends.

In our situation, where military service is far outside the norm for my family and moderately outside the norm for DH's, we tried to be as accommodating as possible when other people asked for our time. Despite DH not expressing interest in a going-away party with his friends the first few times I mentioned it, I regret letting it go as easily as I did. Less than two weeks before he was scheduled to leave, DH started calling his friends from school to meet up with them. While it was out of my hands, it still saddened me when those plans fell through.

In summary, start planning early, but remember to block out time for the two of you to spend time alone together.


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Photo credit: Joe Lanman

T Minus Five Days

*big exhale* DH is finally, finally, finally done with his freelance work. Hip-hip-hooray!

Now I still have to share him with his parents and godparents, MEPS, and my family, but at least I don't have to share him with his clients anymore.

I have to say, the work he did was fantastic, despite being under deadline pressure and getting much less sleep than he's used to.

Stress has kept me off the internet lately, except for the escapism of video games. Over the past two or three days I haven't had the concentration to read anything, much less write or draw. It's a big relief to come back, though.

I pitched the concept that started this blog to a literary agency a week or so ago and I got the rejection I expected yesterday. In some ways it makes me want to work harder at making this an awesome project and resources, but in other ways I want to slack off and let it devolve into a half-assed shadow of the potential it represents.

Or at least I thought I might want to relax my standards until I sat down again. Doing so made me realize how much I miss writing. Unless this relaxation comes from DH no longer having a huge workload I can't help with. Now he can help with MY workload! (So this ramble has been pointless.)

That's unfair... I spent a good deal of today tidying up clothes, running errands, and packing up things that need to be mailed. Now I'm up super early and have a big day of writing and traveling and scheming ahead of me!

Not gonna write itself!

Starting back with thoughts stemming from New Year's Eve and Day...

Both were spent with a good friend of ours who wanted to get in one last quality hang-out before DH and I were unavailable. The three of us had a grand old time at the pub, at the ranch, and in town over about 24 hours. We dropped Draco (the friend) back at his place on our own way home, and each of us did some blogging about the experience, as is our norm.

It was a minor thing, but Draco casually mentioned that part of the occasion was DH leaving for boot camp. The post was public, so I asked him to remove that detail about boot camp. While Draco was easy-going about editing, it led to me spending a few minutes trying to explain why DH isn't fully public about his decision to join the Marines.

It's not a secret under lock and key by any means. Our families and most of our personal friends are in the loop, and anyone who did some serious snooping could stumble upon mention of DH's plans. Certain friends, however, and the casual fans of DH's artwork haven't heard about it. They may have picked up on the fact that he's leaving for three months, but not where he's going or why.

The largest reason for keeping DH's enlisting under our hats is, I believe, a noble one: he doesn't want to have any kind of reputation or status hullabaloo over something he hasn't done yet. A minor part of this reasons is not wanting to jinx it or have people paying close attention until it's a sure thing.

Being incapable of finishing boot camp and receiving his Eagle, Globe, and Anchor is not part of DH's vocabulary, but I think it's wise that he doesn't want to tempt fate by saying what he will be. Especially considering how long he's been in the Delayed Entry Process.

I'm fairly confident that waiting for the big reveal until he has something concrete to show would be the case even if backlash for joining the Marines wasn't a concern. I don't mean a kind of backlash that will result in retribution or harm or slander, just one of dramatic hullabaloo that is exhausting to deal with. DH and I experienced some (he more than I) with our sudden marriage at a relatively young age*.

Even among the closer friends who we told late last spring about DH's move towards the military, some initially told him they thought he was making a mistake that could damage his art career. While that argument was rational and well-meaning, other "concerned" friends are expected to have much more visceral reactions.

I'd say that it's merely the fact that a lot of the people he knows through the internet as a result of his art are the sort of left wing pacifists who refuse to understand the honor involved in joining the United States Marines. These are seldom people he devoted time and effort to befriending, but ones who were drawn to his awesomeness like moths to a flame. I'm fairly sure that these aggressive pacifists would also make Iraq and other US military efforts an issue in their reactions to DH's decision, but Iraq and Afghanistan didn't rank among his top 10 reasons for enlisting. As far as people who are simply anti-military... well, I guess they don't grasp the necessity of warriors.

Over the past months I've been complicit in the "need to know" policy of giving out information about DH's pending military status, and it's been easy, as I don't have much contact with the contingent he's waiting to tell. In my own group of people, DH has been fine with me sharing what's been going on in our lives with people who have no reason to pass it on or make a big deal about it. The only aspect of this method if intel control that I've ever worried about is people coming to me when he's out of contact for three months. We talked about it over NYE, and DH actually suggested that I mess with their heads a little bit, pretending not to know what they're talking about. I have to say, if I never get the chance, I might be a tiny bit disappointed.


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* We met when we were both 21, started dating 1.5 months after meeting, got engaged after 2 months of dating, and married 2 months after that.

Good News/Bad News

... Or maybe just neutral news that could go either way.

Since I last posted there have been things worth blogging about, and some of them involve emotional ups and downs. Due to taking a couple days off from writing (although I have been keeping reminder notes), most of the emotional energy is faded. Hopefully I'll be able to recall and examine the things I want to say without becoming overwhelmed.

Something non-Marine related, our 2009 started out wonderfully with a night out on the town and the next day with family and friends. Unfortunately, when we came back from DH's dad's place, there was an indian 2008, for lack of a better term.

The limbo and helplessness that defined 2008 were back and stronger than ever now that the beginning of my year is so close. Nine days now.

Let me get some rest and I'll fill in the rest of the details.