welcome ICLWers!

I guess an introductory post is in order, huh? Better late than never, right?

I'm Starky (not my real name). I'm 24, turning 25 next month. I grew up in Amish Country, Pennsylvania and I miss it dearly. My husband, Sid, (also not his real name) is 29. We've known each other for almost eight years, and been married for about three and half. Sid is in the Navy, and we both view it as a means to an end, it's not really something that we use to define our lives - he actually hates being called a sailor, just like I hate being referred to as a military wife.

Sid went out on deployment this past year, and when he came back we decided we wanted to start our family. A homecoming baby would be so CUTE, right? Well, it didn't work out the way we'd planned. It turns out that Sid's got low sperm mobility, high viscosity, and low volume. We were told that our best shot at conceiving would be with intrauterine insemination. Sid was not ready to admit defeat, and I spent a lot of time on this blog bitching about it.

We tried to conceive on our own for nine cycles, and I know that's not a lot by some standards, but you ladies know how even one month can feel like an eternity. The time.just.dragged. And then I had this crazy dream that I took a pee test and three lines showed up. One was pink, which meant I was pregnant. One was orange, which meant I was having twins. And the last one was black, which meant that the pregnancy was viable.

Three days later, I took a pee test for shits and giggles, not really expecting to see anything but that one familiar, depressing line. And there were two. It remains to be seen whether the rest of the dream was accurate as well.

catching up

Sid came home on the 11th.

I wish it had actually been as simple as saying it makes it seem. The week leading up to that was filled with bitchwork, and the day before homecoming was insane. Insane. The cats picked up on that and vomited all over hell's half-acre as soon as I finished cleaning.

The morning of, we were expecting rain. When I woke up at 6, it was drizzling, and everything was wet. So instead of my white dress, I wore my black one. With that long black thing on, and my hair curled (THAT was interesting), I thought I bore more than a passing resemblance to Mrs Lovett from Sweeney Todd. Indeed, that night, Sid mentioned unprompted that I'd looked just like her. Minus the whole dark eye-makeup thing; that look has not been my thing for years now.

Cory came with, as it's not every day a friend of yours goes on deployment, and on the way to the base, we got stuck in traffic. A real gridlock. A car had broken down in the downtown tunnel, blocking all lanes of traffic. The cars were backed up for miles. And we sat with the car shut off for nearly half an hour, with me freaking out the whole time. I was convinced the Nassau would come in and the sailors disembark before we could get there.

I was wrong. By the time we got on base and found a place to park, the Nassau was pulling in. We were not as late as I'd imagined. For the next forty minutes, I stood in the baking sun...waiting. Did I mention I didn't wear sunscreen? Pasty-white starky, standing in the direct sunlight for a prolonged period of time? You know where this is going. I got good and fried.

Apparently new parents get to come off the boat first, and normally it wouldn't have bothered me, but for some reason, that day it really stuck in my craw. What a meager way of making amends for forcing these men away from the births of their children. "Oh, hey, we'll let you schmoes of the boat first, so you can finally see your new sons and daughters, and fuck the rest of the childless assholes." Yeah, that day it was really like a punch in the gut. Kick me while I'm down, why don't you.

It didn't matter, though, because Sid was right on the tails of those guys. As the crowd started to cheer, I turned to Cory and said, "we should get closer to them, Sid's expecting us to be over at the tent," and on the way over, I saw a bald guy, who could have been Sid from the back, but I wasn't sure, and I gave him a good look and noticed the blue platinum wedding band. It was Sid! Totally serendipitous, how that happened. We found each other right away in that big crowd.

Anyway, he's home. And while I'm happy to have him back, don't get me wrong, I wish that he'd stop spending so much time with his computer or his video games and do something with me. Anything. I helped him wax his car yesterday, just so I could spend time with him. Last night I broke down and told him how I felt, because it was obvious that he was not going to stop with the ignoring me unless I made him. And I didn't want to make him. But it's been almost a week. And I missed him. And I think that after five months apart, he can deign to put the controller down, shut off the computer, and spend some time with his wife.

Oh, and remember all that shit I wrote that I didn't want Sid to see? Stalking-ass motherfucker found and read this blog. Yes, that's right, Siddy, I called you a stalking-ass motherfucker. I only found this out because he teased me about my Brad Pitt dream.

AWKWARD.

searching for reason where there is none

A few months ago, a friend of Sid's was raped on the boat. I'm sure he spared me the full drama of the entire situation, but needless to say, there was a span of time where she didn't want to be around any men, and he called me asking for help.

Like I was supposed to know what to say and do for this woman. Because being raped suddenly gives you magic mind-reading powers, usable only on other rape victims or something.

News to me, I tell you. I wish I'd known about this sooner.

I told him to just be patient with her. After something like that, it's hard to know who to trust, and he should just chill out. If she wanted to talk to him, she'd come to him, but to just back the hell off in the meantime and give her some space.

Apparently she's talking to him again. He's told her a bit about my own experience, and asked if, when they get back, she would like to talk to me. From what I understand, she's open to the idea.

I don't know how I feel about that. On one hand, I wish someone had been there for me after what I went through, someone to tell me that it would get better, and listen if I wanted to talk about it, and not judge me and tell me that I should be feeling this way and not that way, and why didn't you press charges? I would like to be that person for her, if I can.

And on the other hand, I'm afraid that I may do more harm than good. After all, I'm not a psychologist. I'm just someone who's been there, in that spot where you don't know who to trust, or what to think, and nothing makes sense, and everyone is telling you how you should feel. What can I do for this woman? Who do I think I am?

Someone who hasn't been there just doesn't know what it's like. Sid surely doesn't. As sympathetic as he is, and as understanding as he tries to be, he just doesn't get it. It's been six and a half years; I've accepted what happened, made my peace with it and moved on as best I can. I can explain to him what occurred, I can tell him how I felt and how it affected me, but I will never be able to make him understand why I said and did and thought the things that I did. I have stopped trying. Things like that don't have to make sense to anyone. They don't have to make sense to you, the person who is going through it.

Sid keeps asking me, "Why does she still have feelings for the guy?"

I don't know, any more than I know why I still had feelings for my boyfriend when he raped me. It just is. Fuck the reasons why. Sometimes there isn't a reason for things.

sick to death of talking about my thyroid

With less than a month (OMG!) left in this deployment, the home stretch seems to be an eternity. And I am tired of talking to Sid about my medication, my bloodwork, my symptoms, my side effects... I'm just tired of it. He's not here to see the changes that have taken place, and he asks about it constantly. He's operating under the misguided impression that I am not the same person I was before, which is not something I ever actually said. I had made a blog post about it, and (stupidly) cross-posted it to a site I frequent and that he sometimes checks out, and he blew it all out of proportion and now, to his mind, he's coming home to a Pod Person or something.

The post in question was made in the depths of absolute alienation and discovery. I wrote about what I was feeling at the time, and it was by no means an objective look at my situation. Cory, who has been around to witness my subtle metamorphosis, assured me one day, unprompted, that I have not changed so terribly much. I relayed his words to Sid, who apparently never heard a word of what I said, because he's still convinced I've been replaced by a perky, cheerleader-type version of Starky.

I made the mistake of telling a few relatives, with the stipulation they never tell my mother, because she would blow it out of proportion to the point where, if I didn't get hold of the rest of the family before Mom did, she'd have everyone under the impression I have a goiter the size of a baby's head or something. Gory, false details are very important to my mother. The truth? Not so much.

Anyway, so now I've got a handful of people inquiring after my health, not including Sid, who asks nearly every day. And it's getting old. I know...everyone means well, and they are trying to understand what I'm dealing with. I understand. And I appreciate that I have people who care about me. But I am sick to death of talking about my thyroid.

america, fuck yeah

There's only a month or so left in this deployment. The dates could change, and I'm not supposed to share them anyway. "A month or so" will suffice. Because THE TERRISTS might be reading! Not to poke fun at what some might find a sensitive issue, but I don't hold such a high opinion of myself that I think anyone, much a "terrist", is reading this. But I'll keep my mouth shut just the same. My husband is already unpopular among his peers and superiors for not believing in The Christian God (or any god, what a dirty atheist) that I don't want to make things worse by COMPROMISING SECURITY. (AMERICA, FUCK YEAH, guys. Kiss the fattest part of my ass and smile while you do it, because freedom of religion also means freedom from religion. Just because you believe in the Judeo-Christian sky-daddy doesn't mean you're any better than the godless heathen you serve with. I suggest you get the fuck over yourselves.)

Sid's emails have been getting progressively more emo as the days go by, and while I truly do appreciate that he feels he can tell me these things without fearing ridicule, I have to admit, it has pretty well established itself as something that IS SURE TO RUIN MY GOOD MOOD, SHOULD I HAVE ONE. I don't send him morose emails about all the shit that goes wrong in my day, or how depressed I am, or how I WISH HE WAS HOME. I could, but I don't. What purpose would it serve? I know he feels bad enough without me making it worse. So I keep it to myself.

I'm not saying this to be a bitch, though it's inevitable that's how it will come off, but I'm doing my best to shield him, and I wish he would do the same for me. I know it's got to suck being out there. I know. But does he know it sucks being here all alone? I don't think he does. By the tone of some of his emails, he seems to be laboring under the impression that it's all sunshine and roses and laughter over here, and all I do is sit around with my multitude of friends, eat ice cream and talk about sex.

What friends? What ice cream? For heaven's sake, what sex? Where was I when this all went down?

This entire deployment has brought out the angst and the emo in both of us.

shenanigans!

So it's been a week and a day exactly since I started taking Synthroid, the super-cool synthetic thyroid hormone, and I must say, for such a teensy little pill, it has already effected some big changes in my life. I can ride my recumbent bike without nodding off. That horrid mental fog is lifting, so that I can form coherent thoughts with no effort (for the last few months, playing sudoku was totally beyond me). And the numbers on the scale, for the first time in over a year, are not moving up, but down.

I felt so good the other day I mowed the yard. Now, this is misleading, because it needed to be done, but the great part was that I enjoyed it. I didn't feel like pushing the mower and taking that next step was going to kill me; it felt pretty good, until the pollen had me snotting like a crying toddler.

The bad part is that in my overzealous need to GET THINGS DONE, I tried to replace the old gnawed up blades with some spiffy new ones. I don't know what went wrong, or where, but the mower runs like someone's dragging it over rocks. Oh, and did I mention the billowing smoke? Yeah, it's blowing like a fucking smokestack. And I'm no scientician...but that can't be good.

Circumstances around Manson Homestead are rapidly improving; Sid has reached the halfway point for his deployement, and I feel like a whole new person. Now if only I could do something about the box elders...

the hypocrisy, it burns

Sid sent me an email today, and it contained a paragraph most interesting:

I've also met some good friends here on the boat.. most of them females as they seem to be more mature than the guys. So yes, when i go to ports, i'm usually around a girl. Just wanted to tell you that so you know. I'm obviously not doing anything but when you see pictures and its me and a girl.. don't freak out ok?

Like I'd not noticed that the pictures he was sending me of the last four ports he's hit had the same smiling women in them. Like I'd asked about them. I had not. I knew exactly what was going on, but I didn't say anything. But he felt the need to bring this up now, after a month and some odd change, for what reasons under god, I cannot fathom.

But this is what I sent as a reply:

Let's reverse the situation for a minute. Would you be okay with me hanging out with a bunch of guys? Going places overseas with guys you didn't know and had never met, while you sat at home with the phone and waited for me to call? Can you honestly say you would be fine with that? Because somehow, I'm not seeing it. I don't care what you do out there - well, I do care, but there's nothing I can do about it - but if you admit to yourself that you would not be all right with me doing the things you're doing, maybe you need to change your behavior.

I have not forgotten the last time he was gone for months on end, how he flipped out when Cory asked me to come to Zakk's Coffeehouse to see his favorite band. Nor have I forgotten the screaming fights, as Sid went to the movies with his (girl) friends, and yet wanted me to stay home alone. It was epic, one of those things that we were either going to hash out and work through, or it would destroy our marriage completely. We'd been screaming at each other for so long it seemed like that was the only way we could speak to one another, and finally, in sheer desperation, I asked him "how would you feel if our situations were reversed?" and that was turning point. He had not stopped for one moment to see the situation from my point of view, until I asked him to. And when he did, he realized he'd been something of a douchebag.

Not that I'm accusing him of being a douchebag this time, but the idea is the same. Until I make him walk a mile in my shoes, he will not stop to think of my perspective. As he was the youngest child in his family, it was always about him, and as I was the oldest child in my own, it was always about everyone else, and unlearning those behaviors and ways of thinking is hard.

the things we take for granted

Sid, when something humorously unexpected happens, will shout, "surprise, cockface!" and it never fails to crack me up. He has a certain tone of voice he uses, and a certain inflection, and I can never reproduce it when I try.

And yesterday, of all the godawful things to miss about him, I missed his "surprise, cockface!"

I'm almost ashamed to admit it. But then I got to thinking about all the other things I miss about him, all the stupid things that annoy me to no end, and the stuff that makes me grit my teeth...and I miss all of it. Yes, I am even humble enough to admit that right now, I harbor fond recollections of the way he belches and blows his gutrot in my face.

Although, if I'm being really honest with myself, one thing I don't miss is how he likes to put off taking a poo until right before I take a shower. Mmmm mmmm, nothing quite like bathing while the gentle smell of rancid pig manure blends with your scented soap...

Something tells me that when he finally comes home, there will be a span of about a month were Sid can do no wrong. And then the novelty will wear off, and it'll be back to shenanigans as usual at the Manson Homestead.

I can hardly wait.

sometimes you can't win for losing

Sid called today. First words out of his mouth? "Hey, uh, are you spending anything this weekend?"

What do you mean, Siddy?

"Are you going to be spending any money this weekend? Because Rome was expensive. So if you've got to buy something, wait until I get paid again."

OH TEH IRONIEZ. This from the man who made it abundantly clear that this deployment was the perfect opportunity to put some money away. I checked our bank balance. Last week, we had over $2,000 in there. Today? $200.

He spent at least $1,000 without batting an eye. It wasn't like he had to pay for lodging! What the hell was he doing? While I realize he wanted to have a good time, I'm sitting at home talking myself out of buying a $70 shirt! How is this fair? All the money I've taken out has been for the car insurance, groceries, and other utilities. I've not spent a single dime on a gift for myself yet.

I'm...just a little pissed off right now. Just a little. Maybe just a teeny-tiny bit. Maybe.

Was I going without just so he could buy hookers in Rome? Jesus. I was like "Sid, I need to pay the rent! I'm going to the doctor! The water bill is due!"

"Yeah, it'll be fine, I'm getting paid on, like, Monday."

So that makes his thousand dollar splurge a-o-friggin'-kay, does it?

not the easiest thing in the world

This deployment, while certainly not the worst of them, still sucks. This time, I know that there may be whole weeks that pass before I get a single email from Sid, and I know that he won't be able to call home even once a week. But that doesn't mean it's easy.

He emailed me some pictures when he hit port, and they had the opposite effect he was hoping for, I think. I got jealous. I got downright pissed that he was somewhere so beautiful, drinking wine and watching flamenco dancing, while the most exciting thing to happen to me in recent days was having the mailman drop off my Netflix movies.

I told him as much, when he deigned to call home for a few minutes. Really, I've got no right to complain about the short telephone calls. At least he calls. A five minute phone call maybe once a week is the most human contact I have outside of the cashier at the grocery store.

My fucking god, how sorry is that.

I can go a full damn week without hearing another person's voice.

Cory comes over as often as he can, but it's unfair to expect an 18 year old guy to stop by a woman's house if there's no sex involved. Let's be honest. I'd never fuck him. He knows it. And he's got things he needs to do besides come over twice or three times a week to entertain another dude's wife, and eat popcorn and watch crime documentaries.

So be it. I'll eat popcorn and watch crime documentaries alone.

I'm just so fucking lonely! God, I hate typing that. But it's the truth.

struggling

I am in a really bad place right now, emotionally, and I keep searching for reasons why. But does there have to be a reason? I keep telling myself it doesn't matter why I feel the way I do, there doesn't need to be justification. This is how it is, and I must work through it.

Lately, I have felt very helpless. It was such a small thing that started it, too, and it's just snowballed. We took out a loan for Sid's mother, whose credit is in the shitter (her husband had a heart attack a few years ago, and all their resources are drained in the effort to pay the astronomical bills from it). Navy Federal Credit Union then made everyone involved jump through flaming hoops to get everything done. Sid deployed before all the paperwork could be completed, so I had to finish it as his Attorney-In-Fact. I had to mail in copies of the Power of Attorney documents, and this is where shit hit the fan.

The printer wouldn't work. Normally, this wouldn't be a huge deal; Sid would fix it, or I would putter around until I figured out the problem. Well, he's not here to bail me out, and I tried everything...the printer simply wouldn't print. After three days of insisting I could get it working, I gave up. The paperwork had to be mailed, and I had to admit defeat, walk to the library and make copies there.

I pride myself on my independence, so this was a bitter pill to swallow. Suddenly, I felt like I was not capable. All because of a printer!

Then, last week, Cory asked for my help in completing a project for school. He wanted me to record him doing a step by step presentation; a how-to video. I agreed, as it was something to occupy my time. Only problem is, my digital camera doesn't record sound, and I couldn't find Sid's cameras. He's got three, and there's no way he took all three with him on deployment, so they've got to be around here somewhere, right?

I tore the house apart, and unearthed his Olympus. Not my first choice; I would have preferred the Canon, as I'm more accustomed to using that one, but anything in a pinch, right? The Canon seems to have dropped off the face of the earth; Sid insists he left it here, but I can't find it anywhere, and I even searched both cars and the attic. So Cory comes over, and I record him, and now I find I don't know where the USB cable is so that I can transfer the video to my PC and burn it on DVD. I can't find the thing anywhere. The USB that I use for my little PowerShot, and the Canon, doesn't fit the Olympus. And I can't ask Sid for help, because, you know, he's not here.

Another frantic search ensues. After a day and a half, I realize I can use the memory card reader in my desk. Well, great.

It's broken. It freezes up and crashes my computer. Every. Motherfucking. Time.

And Sid is not here to help me. I feel stupid and useless. Normally, when he's around, I do these things all the time with no problems. Now that he's gone, it's like nothing in this house wants to cooperate with me.

Now, I have a huge problem with asking for help. My mother drilled it into my head that I needed to own my shit: that is, deal with my own problems without dragging anyone else into it. Any time I asked her for help with things, I got a rant about how I was stupid, and I had a brain like a sieve, and...well, you get the idea. So it's hard for me admit I need help and actively seek it.

Well, I admit, right now, I need help. And there is no one here to help me.

And I feel stupid. Like I have a brain like a sieve. I feel like a fucking child. And I hate it.

a news article

For the life of me, I can't tell you what possessed me to search the internet for this article. But I feel like I ought to post it here, just because. I've been talking so much about the deployment, here's some actual news coverage.

NORFOLK, VA. (MyFox Hampton Roads) -- At Naval Station Norfolk Wednesday, nearly 3-thousand sailors with the Nassau Expeditionary Strike Group deployed to the 5th and 6th fleet areas of operation.

"Very nervous, very emotional, gonna miss him, yeah gonna miss him," said Corrine.

"He made it back just in time for her to be born and now she turned a year old in December and he's leaving again," said Michelle.

The guided missile destroyer USS Bulkeley was first to leave port, followed by the USS Ross and then the amphibious assault ship USS Nassau. USS Nashville, also part of the Nassau Expeditionary Strike Group is expected to get underway Thursday due to an engine problem. A little more than a year ago, the Nashville helped in the non-combative evacuation of more than two thousand Americans from Lebanon.

"You never quite do exactly what you expect to do before you leave. It's like the cop on the beat, when you're there you can make much more of a difference than having to travel to wherever it is you need to be," said Captain Dewolfe H. Miller III, Commanding Officer of the USS Nashville.

Amphibious ships like the Nashville are supposed to be transporting Marines, but last month the Marine Expeditionary Unit received orders to get a different ride to Afghanistan.

"Certainly one of our missions is to transport Marines, but there's just so many other things that we do. The search and rescue capability the medical capability that we all bring," said Captain Robert G. Lineberry, Commodore, Nassau Strike Group.

As these men and women wait to see what this deployment will bring, their loved ones wait patiently back at home.

Speak for yourselves. I'm not "waiting patiently." I'm fucking pissed! You assholes had no idea what the hell was going on, couldn't give anyone a solid date until just a few days before launch!

So no, I am not "waiting patiently." I'm just waiting. Waiting to gain some sense of normalcy now that there is none. Waiting to be able to live the life he and I have been imagining, that has been put off repeatedly because of the demands of the military.

Fuck that "patient" bullshit.

waterworks

I logged into MySpace for the first time ages, because my mother had sent me an email asking when Sid was coming home, saying that my sister Jessica had told her about his deployment. Well, my first thought was "how did Jessica find out?" and then I realized that Sid had probably sent a bulletin or something to let everyone know he was leaving.

So being the masochistic bitch I am, I just had to go find it and read it for myself.

There wasn't one. But... there was a soppy little bulletin from my sister's fiance, talking about SUPPORT THE TROOPS, and I opened it. Because I am stupid. And I like to torture myself.

It was the typical MySpace SUPPORT THE TROOPS bulletin, truly, but it had music. Nickelback's "Far Away," which gets me every damn time. Oh my fucking cheese goddess, the waterworks. I cried for ten solid minutes. And I'd only heard one line of the song.

So that was my Emo Moment for today, and I'm done with crying.

For now.

I did about ten minutes of yoga yesterday before I decided that the carpet was in dire need of a vacuuming, and I simply had to stop what I was doing right then and set to. And I woke up this morning with my asscheeks and the backs of my legs giving me bloody hell. It was so encouraging, I did a full half hour today. Tomorrow, it won't feel so encouraging, I can tell that much right now.

it's done

Last night, I said goodbye to Sid and dropped him off at the pier.

I make it sound so simple. But it was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I'm so glad that I'll never have to go through it again. All day I had been telling myself that I wouldn't cry, not even when he said goodbye to the cats, because that always chokes me up.

I cried. If I hadn't thought he'd turn around and look, I'd have sat in the car and bawled. He kept saying "don't cry" through his own tears, so what the hell was I going to do? Laugh? I have nothing but respect for the families who go through this with children...it's hard enough to make sense of this, myself, without having to explain it to a child.

The cats know something is amiss. I didn't get home from the pier until 1 AM, and I was so tired I just left the bedroom door open. The cats came in there and were smelling around and wailing and trying to climb in Sid's dresser drawers. They know. No one can convince me otherwise.

Part of me is relieved. I don't have to fear the goodbye anymore, it's done.

two weeks

Sid was home for two weeks, on leave, and my hard drive fried during the same time, so yeah. Much fun. I feel like I can't blog or do any of the things I want to when he's around sometimes, because he gets to peeking over my shoulder and asking me what I'm doing...and I don't like that. Really don't like that, but no amount of asking him to stop gets it done. So I deal.

Anyway, hard drive fried. So when we ordered a new one, we just went ahead and got more RAM and a new power supply to go with it (the video card was kind of wonky with the power supply we had) and my "new computer" is quite spiffy.

Come to find out that there's a possibility the deployment isn't going to be six months. It might be three months at sea, three months back home, and then another three months back at sea. Or they might not be going out at all. The ship is slated to leave port in about a week, and nobody knows what in the motherfuck is going on. Lovely. This ranks up there with the time they called Sid the night before the boat left and told him he wasn't supposed to be aboard. Typical military bullshit.

emotions running high

I am so sick of talking about this deployment. Sick to death of it, but it's the only topic of discussion in my waking life, and so that inevitably carries over here.

Sid has been just a bit...paranoid. We have a friend, Cory, who comes over frequently to play video games with us - we bought Rock Band, and I for one love nothing so much as getting together to take on our rock personas, and our living room becomes a world where the only thing we have to worry about is a bad performance. Escapism at it's finest! Anyway, Sid's been pretty squicked about Cory lately, asking me "was he coming on to you?" Last night it was "do you like him?"

This pretty much how the conversation went:

"Do you like Cory?"

"Of course, he's our friend, isn't he?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean...you know..."

"Do I want to violently jump his bones?"

An uncomfortable silence, and then, "Yeah, pretty much."

And then I laughed like Lois from Family Guy, when Peter says something stupid: A chuckle, a snort, and then full blown laughter, followed by a choking incredulous, "What?"

He's understandably nervous about being away for so long, but my patience with this kind of paranoid obsession is pretty much non-existent. I haven't for one second forgotten how bad he got when he was in a-school; freaking out about me going to the local coffeehouse with Cory, to the point we had screaming matches on the phone, and I was certain he wouldn't be happy until I was a prisoner in this house. And I'm trying my best to give Sid all my understanding and love, which was all I wanted from him while he was away the last time, and something I felt I never got.

I'm trying. And I can tell that he is, too, this time. We've been through this enough times in the past that it's about damn time we got this right.

time's winding down

With this deployment looming closer every day, things around here have been pretty strained. Sid gets clingy, and I can't stand that. I tend to withdraw, and I want him to leave me alone, as terrible as that might seem. But he won't, and his constant badgering is getting on my last damn nerve.

Today, he was supposed to have headed out for a few weeks of so-called training, but last night someone from his command called and said that the ship's staying dockside, so he's got all his stuff packed for nothing. I'm almost mad about it. I was so looking forward to being able to have some space for myself, and not have to worry about him following me around like a needy toddler. Well, it seems I'm not getting that reprieve. I'll just have to suck it up and deal until February.

He's been making stupid comments lately that just make me want to scream. Don't cheat on me while I'm gone probably tops the list of shriek-worthy sayings. Fuck! Who am I going to cheat on him with? My gay friend in Florida? (love you, hoor)

Oh yes, we'll be having hot cyber sex while Sid's away, we're just waiting for him to set foot on that boat so that we can get dirrrty.

I hate this wait. The weeks leading up to the deployment are the hardest part. Even harder than saying goodbye, in my opinion. How awful is it that I just want to see him gone so I can stop feeling like I'm walking on eggshells?

a rant about military life

My husband, who for the purposes of this blog will be referred to as "Sid" or "Mr Starky" (I'll explain why later) is gearing up for a deployment. I am not privy to the exact date of departure, but I've been led to believe it's sometime after Valentine's Day. Anyway, he got home last night, and immediately launched into a rant about how the deployment might be extended, and hate, and death, and sadness rain upon them forevermore, and so on and so forth.

Wait, what? Extended? Six months isn't long enough?

He tells me that they might be leaving early. They might be coming back late. As it was, they were supposed to be back sometime in the neighborhood of August. Now they may not get back until sometime in November.

November. That's ten months, people. The longest the military can legally hold them on that boat is thirteen months, and I would not be surprised to see them push it that far. The military has assraped us at every opportunity. "Accelerate your life" my eye. More like "bend over and grab your ankles."

Rather ungraciously, my first reaction was not "oh no, I won't see him for almost a year", it was "oh, thank god we decided to hold off on having a baby."

Anyway, did you know that the military doesn't like it's enlisted members having a MySpace account? I didn't know this. Apparently they're fed the line that "the terrists" (pronunciation courtesy of Bush Co.) can find them if they use MySpace. So, in case there are any "terrists" reading, I'll just refrain from posting my husband's name, 'kay? I know this isn't MySpace, but those terrists could be reading this! shock, horror