aadler: (ck4)
Aadler ([personal profile] aadler) wrote2005-12-24 03:39 am
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11:45 AM Central Afghan Time

So, Christmas Eve. I’m nine hours ahead of U.S. eastern time, so I’ll be going to bed about the time most of the folks at home are eating or recovering from lunch.

I’ve had the habit, in times past, of doing a retrospective at the end of the year. Of course, that usually comes on New Year’s Eve, but I’m in the mood right now and it’s not as if it’s an official practice, right? So here I am.

This time last year, I was home for the holidays; but, for some reason, I’m more inclined at the moment to compare my situation to that of two years ago. The similarities and differences make a contrast that seems to have some kind of meaning for me, though I’m not close to establishing just what meaning that might be.

Christmas of 2003, I was in Iraq, temporarily attached to a field team. I had just come back from leave at home, and it was pretty much the low point of my Iraq tour, because I had just come back from leave. It wasn’t being back in Iraq that had me down, it was having been home in the first place. I had arrived in my home town exactly in time for Thanksgiving dinner, went straight from the airport without even changing out of my DCUs; then, the following day, learned that the woman to whom I’d been writing for the past two years had gotten engaged in my absence. As best I could tell, just about the time we left Kuwait to start the drive into Iraq. I spent the entirety of my leave trying to come to terms with that, and it did not make for one of the best times of my life.

Actually, it was the springboard to a depression that it took me a while to get past. We’ve become accustomed to thinking of sustained depression as being caused by an imbalance in brain chemicals, and in fact that’s frequently the case. Some depression is situational, though; we feel bad because things are bad. I felt bad because the deployment would be ending soon — we returned in March — and I honestly couldn’t see that I’d have anything waiting for me at home.

Evidence of my slump can be seen in creative output. Before taking leave, I had been writing from four to eight letters a week, steadily and consistently; after taking leave, I wrote none. Before taking leave, I had turned out seven stories in eight months; after taking leave, I did one, and most of that had been written beforehand, with me finishing it in a tent at a transition base in Kuwait on the way back into theater, and no more stories completed or even begun for the remainder of the deployment. And Christmas itself, back in Iraq, was just a day to be gotten through.

I’m in markedly better shape this time around. For one thing, there’s no woman to serve as the source of a downturn; and, while the lack of any personal involvement can’t count as a positive, the lack of opportunity to be Dear-Johned definitely provides an absence of negative. I’ve not taken leave yet on this tour, and when I do I’ll spend it partying in Germany. My daughter has maintained more frequent and meaningful communication with me in Afghanistan than she did while I was in Iraq, and that’s been a precious support. Plus, I can’t discount the value of the simple human contact available to me through my recent arrival in the LJ community; sometimes small things can make large differences.

I haven’t written as many letters, or received as many, but I’m also less dependent on that lifeline. I’ve done five stories in six months, with three or four others clamoring for their turn, so the odds are that I’ll manage to equal or even surpass my Iraq record. My plans for what I’ll do on returning Stateside are somewhat more firm than was the case the last time through. I’m staying in better quarters, eating better food, and in general feeling better about my place in the world.

Day before yesterday Donald Rumsfeld was in the chow hall, during an official visit; yesterday, I was in the opcen at a time that allowed me to watch on the monitor as four insurgents were tracked by the camera on a Predator drone, making time down a dry riverbed with huge rucksacks, and then had a Hellfire missile planted amongst them when they stopped to rest in injudicious proximity to one another. (There was celebrating in the opcen, and I was one of the celebrants; these were people who would happily have killed us, and now they no longer have the option.) Tonight I’ll walk the compound as Sergeant of the Guard; tomorrow, I’ll be doing the readings at Christmas Mass.

I’ve been watching a lot of videos lately (Cellular yesterday, for action/thrills, and Spanglish today, for comic heartwarming tour de force). I’ve been reading a lot, including as much Patricia Cornwell as I can get my hands on. I’ve been searching out on LJ people I used to follow — and occasionally write to via e-mail — in the Buffyfic community, and friending them as quickly as I can find them.

I’m generally satisfied with the way this year has gone. I don’t think I’ll have the proper opportunities to make next year even better, but I’m going to give it a shot.

Merry Christmas to all, and my special thanks to those who welcomed me here. Trust me on this: it matters.


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