Over the past few months I haven’t posted to this blog for one reason or another. You could say it was my belated show of solidarity with the WGA strike. Maybe they’ll give me an honorary membership. Below are a few notes from my recent experiences living here on Camp Victory and Camp Victory, Baghdad, Iraq.
I enjoyed watching the movie The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford, a story about murderous crime, loyalty, betrayal and egoism.
I know of an Iraqi man who lives in Sadr City. I’ve been told that his ability to work has become very dangerous now that the Madi militia has begun fighting again with Iraqi security forces. Earlier tonight, while driving from the DFAC, I could hear a gun fight not far from my trailer. I suppose it was far enough because people continued to play a game of volleyball nearby. – Have you ever wondered how terrorized all the extras were at high noon when suddenly they had to scurry away, and the Good Guy shoots it out with the Outlaw? –In a newly democratic Iraq who represents this man, my friend, the middleman, the man without a gun.
I found it funny as I got to know my coworkers that many people assumed I was married. If the fact I don’t wear a single piece of jewelry didn’t clue them I don’t know what gave them that impression. That was a stupid sentence. I’ve noticed that many of the soldiers and contractors are married; people with strong, clear convictions, career minded, highly educated or not, patriotic, loyal, and religious.
I’ve had sick sinuses and been depressed here. It’s oppressive in a nutshell, and I hate sandstorms. I believe it is humid in Paradise.
I buy bootlegs from the small stores run by Iraqis here on base for about two dollars a piece. I’ve also begun working out with my neighbor an Army guy and I enjoy him kicking my ass in the gym.
The fighting has continued.
Last night I woke in the middle of the night dreaming about being bombed. Mortars were landing all around me. I was running seeking cover when one landed close behind me lifting me off my feet head-first. I thought my legs were blown off and I woke, quickly looking down the length of my bed to see if I was still in one piece.
At times I battle with contempt as the beautiful pictures of my life fade in and out of my screensaver. Friends and family, ex-girlfriends and all the old places don’t live with me anymore.
The movies, one or two a night have gotten to be too much, kinda like pancakes, all exciting at first but too much in the end. Iraqis, or Arabic speakers who don’t know me speak to me in Arabic. It’s the same as when Puerto Ricans and Dominicans talk to me in Spanish. Even Mexicans sometimes make the assumption. Some things don’t change.
If necessity is the mother of invention it’s a shell game finding purpose everyday.
