2005SEP22

The wall was coated with the wisdom of bathroom stall poets, as I filled the urinalysis cup. Movie quotes, bad suggestive art, and the usual directory of phone numbers for services you won't find in the yellow pages greeted me, but they were few. What did surprise me was the prose, messages of hope, determination, and quotes that covered the four walls. Army quotes, statements to lend a defiant strength or to show the strength of hope.
Inside, I'm bitter. There are raging debates about how to deal, about how to respond, about what approach to take and maintain through BCT.
I'm miserable, happy, enthusiastic, depressed, and homesick. Believe me when I say I was surprised where most of the misery came from. Gilbert. He's in his own personal hell here. No freedom, no entertainment, no forms of creative expression, no forms of expression at all.
Jade switches between seething and self-pitying. But she's determined. I've found she possesses a fiery strength I was unaware of. I don't know what or why or even how she is maintaining herself. But she was the one that pushed beyond my body's limits during the mile run and left me in control of a gasping, burning, aching body. She does get hurt by the negative things said to us. But she gets hold of herself and slips off to the back of our mind to sulk and metabolize it. When she returns, she is a with hot pillar of burning resolve and motivation again.
Zack keeps viewing the Drill Sergeant as father-like figures. This causes minor problems. But not as many as you would expect.
Diplomat is speechless. Poor, poor Diplomat.
If only he would STOP thanking the Drill Sergeants.
Seven does the PT and "corrective training". Sometimes he gives it over to Azreal. Between them, they can push my small frame far beyond what I thought it could do. Already I've gained 13 lbs, all muscle.
Asimov is nonplussed, and valuable. The Drill Sergeants give him instructions, he follows them. Nothing more, nothing less. 1/2 the time, this is perfect, the other 1/2, they want us to think.
Bool, he is struggling. He never could do well in the physical fortitude category. Emotionally he is holding, but the stress is getting to him. Basically, he's not allowed to think! This is hard for him. He is not as fast of efficient when he is uncertain.
Me... I am... ready for this to be over. The days are long and grueling. I'm sore all over, and I can't do anything right. It reminds me of how I felt a lot of the time during elementary school, third grade, at Park Circle. However, I will tough it out. I cannot, no, have not yet gained some equilibrium, but I'm getting adept at not requiring it greatly. I've been rewriting my response routines, so to speak. Stimuli A creates response B, I need to respond with C, I focus on connecting A to C, and not B. Bool seemed interested, very interested, when I started doing this. He says I've always done it, it's a core part of my, well, programming, but I've never done it consciously before.
I got mail last night! From my wife. With pictures! And my Soldier's Bible. I'm excited about that. I got all teary eyed reading one, and was trying to hide it, but then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and another, and looked up and saw half my squad there looking at me. There was only understanding, empathy, and support in their eyes. Still, the platoon as a whole is a circus of clashing egos and personalities. The Type A personalities are constantly vying for dominance, aggressively. I'm a type B - Repressed. Assertive, anxiety based. The type C personalities, well, I haven't noticed them.
My wound has put me in a great spot. The army is like a pack of wild animals. There is little place for weakness, and they smell it on me. I'm holding my ground. By staying up late, helping where I can, sacrificing sleep for the good of the platoon, I'm winning some esteem back. But a few predators are still circling.
I'm gaining a LOT of people skills...
A drill sergeant (Lehman) just threatened to rip my head off. "Private Johnston, if you call me one more time and need to go ANYWHERE but back to the company, I'll rip your head off. I can do it too. You are pretty small, and I'm a lot bigger than you. I'll just grab your neck and your shoulders, AND RIP IT OFF!"
"Drill Sergeant, YES! Drill Sergeant!" What else do you say to something like that?
I've got eleven weeks left. We're getting cycled out in 12, and this is almost the end of the week 1. Monday is the start of week 2.
Week 2 should be hella fun. Basic Rifle Maintenance. I'm looking forward to it.
At the TMC-7 (Troop Medical Clinic), I got to call my wife. A secret favor from a member of staff. She knows I was hurt, and I asked if they could inform her I was okay. I got 5 minutes to talk to her. Ronin was squealing in the background. Yay Ronin!
Wow this has gotten long. But I despise wasting paper. The Drill Sergeants do not make it easy on the privates going to sick call, and I believe they have more than one S.O.P. Furthermore, due to two members of my platoon who promised to wake me up not doing it... I was late, and have gotten NO food today. It really bothers me that I got hurt the moment things began to get fun. Gas chamber, obstacle course. I wonder what we are doing tomorrow. Probably D&C (Drill and Ceremony). I can't even be a part of that! No worries, we'll do plenty of it.
Drill Sergeant Link is an Infantry fiend. He loves the infantry, and only the infantry. He despises civilians, he tolerates support (anyone NOT infantry is support) seeing them as people who joined the military for the benefits, but wanted to do a civilian job. He runs the most disciplined and hardest platoon on Sand Hill. And he's only 29. A holdover told me this, Thompson. I asked Thompson what the infantry would do without support, you know: food, supplies, and housing. Thompson replied with what DS Link would say "That's what pillaging is for."
DS Link is not married, lives alone, does not really fraternize with the other Drill Sergeants, and, I'm told, is a little crazy. It's just my luck or fate hates me.
The birds on Ft. Benning have on fear. One is sitting on my boot toe trying to consume or steal my laces.
Today is my last day on sick call hopefully. Sunday I just need to get more blood work done. Err... Urinalysis. There is blood in my urine. I hope it isn't a prelude to something serious.