48, Toy Soldiers and The Material World......

I started off my day feeling sorry for myself. I'll be 48 soon, and I owe the government $18,000.00 for student loans, I work at a crappy job in retail, I have one and a half clients in my Web Design business and I'm having trouble coming up with the money to pay the bills. My breasts are sagging, I'm under-weight with a saggy little "pooch" that used to be my rock hard tummy, I look more like I'm 57, and without the dye job, I'd be completely grey. I'm the single parent of a 16 year old, who thinks applying himself to anything is too much like hard work, so he just avoids it, while taking advantage of the fact that I seem to be working all the time. Yay, me.... .

Then it happened. While driving the boy to school, as he was late as usual, he innocently enough told me how sorry he was for one of his buddies in cadets. I guess the kids' parents, who are hard working people just trying to get by, had bought him a pair of combats so he could fit in a little easier. The problem was, they aren't "real", or so my son informed me. I lost it.

The next thing the poor kid knew, he was being bellowed at: "And why the fuck should that matter? 'Cause some little snots, who's mommies and daddies have lots of bucks and bought them "the real deal" are being judgemental, well let me tell you something about the real deal. You little bastards obviously missed the point when the 3 year combat veteran (1 year Afghanistan, 2 years Iraq) now back for a third in Iraq, told you all that "out there", the only thing that matters and the only thing you have to rely on, is each other. You had the opportunity to actually learn something, and you all obviously missed it.". I continued with: "Maybe the little wanna-be toy soldiers who think that this sort of thing is important should become real ones, then they can find out how much it matters whether your goddam combats are real or not. Stare down the barrel of an AK-47, and then let me know if you're thinking about your combats, that you've probably pissed in, or the person next to you, who might or might not blow the head off the one who's trying to kill you. Pathetic.".

And on it went: "I dare you, tell that story to the guy you personally know, who's been there, done that. Be sure to look in his eyes as you're telling him, too. Oh yah, I forgot, the poor bastards' been sent back, so I guess you'll have to wait for the opportunity, if you ever get one again. Maybe you should remind the rest of your corps, and yourself, about what really matters in this world. Each other.".

Yup, I lost it. I could probably have handled it a little better than I did, and I regret the yelling and the language, but it's done now. I'll make my apologies when he gets home.

So, that's how my day started. For all those armchair shrinks out there, analyze that one, and let me know what you think is really pissing me off, right now.