Out of My Element

Out of my element – how much more out of my element can I be? I’m in Iraq, south of Baghdad, in the middle of the night, sitting in a guard tower writing this in a notebook. I’d be more in my element if I even had a computer in front of me. I know, you’re thinking, “but you’re in the army, your element is sitting in Iraq or wherever they say you need to go.” Bullshit, I say. My element is at home. My element is my house, my car that I’m paying on and can’t even drive, my two dogs, and most of all my wife.

I’ve been out of my element for two months now and it sucks. I’m stuck eating the same food every day because the cooks never get anything different in. Where’s my Quarter Pounder with Cheese? Where’s Wal*Mart? I don’t even have a way to spend money in this place. I got $50 out two months ago from the finance people and it’s still sitting in my pocket to this day. I’m not much of a drinker, but damn, it would be nice to have a Sam Adams every once in a while. Is it too much to ask that my steak be done any way other than beef jerky?

A day off? When? I’m not getting one of those until about mid-August when I get home. Every day, it’s the same thing, go to guard, go to bed. Find time to do homework, post a time or two on The Board. No wonder people go insane over here. I am one of the fortunate few who don’t go outside the wire, so to speak, and I just might go a little crazy.

There are mice everywhere. I have two confirmed kills and don’t even own a mousetrap. They destroyed my bug-out backpack. There’s $50 wasted. They eat the food my family mails me and ruin everything. I hate them. Don’t even get me started on the mosquitoes.

I’m out of my element. Therefore, I’m writing out of my element. I want nothing more than to be back in my element. I want to go home.