(09DEC2008)
If he were alive, the esteemed poet John Milton would be 400 years old today and probably very, very tired.
It is also my 33rd birthday.
Two years ago today I spent my 31st birthday at Camp Arifjan, Kuwait, while on a short mission there, in what was my first foray into the Middle East. It was one of the work-around-the-clock missions, and I remember crawling into my bunk utterly fatigued sometime around 2200 that night, realizing it was my birthday and that it was almost over.
I don’t think anyone on that mission knew it was my birthday, and at any rate nobody said anything and I was far too exhausted to care.
This year, I saw my birthday coming, for all the good it does. There’s little one can do to make any one day more special than another, however, because the normal machinations of the war grind on uncaring. We all have jobs to do, and they have to be done every day without fail. Tuesdays are particularly busy for me, with an important VTC taking up most of the evening.
I don’t mention my birthday to anyone here – it’s hard to work that into conversation without sounding like you’re fishing for something, because of course you are.
I go about my business, and find myself eating dinner alone at a DFAC I don’t usually visit. Unlike my DFAC, this one has cake, and I help myself to a piece.
I receive a number of emails from family and friends, all of which I’m thankful for, but the day comes and goes not terribly unlike all the other days here.
VTC = Video TeleConference
DFAC = Dining FACility
If he were alive, the esteemed poet John Milton would be 400 years old today and probably very, very tired.
