Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Call It A Night

The closer I get to getting out, the more I find myself thinking about why I'm getting out. And what I'll do if they call me back.

The way I look at getting out, it's like choosing NOT to bet on a fresh hand at the table. Like swallowing your pride, standing up and walking away from the table, ego bruised, cutting the losses and just walking. Just praying that the pit boss doesn't walk up behind me and give me one of those taps on the shoulder to let me know that I owe them more.

Nah, don't think I could do it again. Not after experiencing first-hand how restrained we are. Powerless. Armed to the teeth but tied up with red tape. Blindfolded, one arm tied behind the back. Lit cigarette dangling out of the mouth, waiting for the firing squad or the big angry bull. Blind and paranoid and expected to smile and wave and win over strangers that don't give a fuck about you, doing the bidding of powerful men who also don't give a fuck about you.

We fight someone else's fight...why don't these decision makers just have good ol' fashion duels?

I think about it plenty. I have a metric fuckton of respect for the people that choose to stay in. Not me though. I don't want to roll the dice anymore. Russian roulette for combat pay, and nowadays the odds aren't so bad, right? I don't care if it's for million dollar paychecks, because if it's you that ends up on the wrong end of the revolver, no amount of money is going to help you.

"We'll see you in six months," they say. They love to say that lately. And don't forget to mention the economy. Make us afraid to live outside the army. I'll choose a trash fire before I take another crack at this gig. No hard feelings, I'm just done. Rather not spin the wheel again and hit Bankrupt, Pat. No Deal. This is a good place to stop, Regis.

I'm not going to be a memory while the rest of the world rots anyway. Call me selfish, call me a coward, tell me I have no heart, whatever. But no one is going to put words in my mouth at my funeral, saying that I believed in the cause. If I were to be killed in another deployment, I wouldn't have any inspiring things to impart on everyone else, that's the shit that higher ups make up to try to make it all seem better, seem like there was some sort of purpose.

Everything happens for a reason, but sometimes the reason isn't that good, sometimes it doesn't make any sense at all. But all of this is going to continue anyway, and more people will die. Why would I choose to be a part of it? I didn't listen just like the new guys don't listen. You touch the plate after the waiter tells you it's hot, that kind of thing. Learn the hard way. Got it, got it WELL. I'm not even taking a political stance or harboring desires to soapbox my opinions to cause some sort of change. Just a personal decision.

That's it for me, dealer. I'm out.

14 comments:

Anonymous said...

Don't worry about the economy when you get out. I mean that. You're young, you got no kids, no debt; you've got a clean slate. If you need it, you got friends and family to give you meals. You not looking for luxury anyway, are you? You've got brains, curiosity and a sense of adventure. That is totally all it takes for you right now. Everything is going to be FINE.

Kelsey said...

Good for you!

bigD said...

Hi Suspect,
You wordsmith you! I am quite inspired by your ability to hit the nail right on the head every time. Are you good at carnival games? Cuz I would like to win a very BIG stuffed animal. Sorry tangent...

The poker analogy was right on the money...I can hear K. Rogers singing, "you gotta know when to fold 'em." And all good poker players know that it takes skilz to lay down a hand and know when to walk away. If that pit boss comes near I'll take his knees out for you.

Paragraph Three. Great summation to the entire war in Iraq...you have successfully distilled six years of combat into one paragraph!

Duels? I think that is a great idea! "The deciders" can duke it out and leave the rest of us out of it. And when the duel happens let's make sure it's on a shitty, smelly street at high noon (say about 140 degrees in the shade) wearing 80 pounds of gear!

I now have another Suspect-ism to add to the vocab list: "metric fuckton." I think you should publish them all. These words make me laugh and I try to use them in a sentence at least once a day.

"We'll see you in six months," they say.
Why are they still trying to mess with your head? Don't they know better by now? Oh and BTW, there are plenty of us out here in the non-Army world making it one day at a time. You can too!

My favorite part:
"Everything happens for a reason, but, sometime the reasons isn't that good, sometimes it doesn't make any sense at all." So true Ryan, so true! And that doesn't just apply to the military world.

Ryan, it's ok to leave this table, those cards are played out anyway! Time to try your hand at a new game.

God(s) bless you Ryan. You will still rock my socks even in civilian clothes.

red said...

There is absolutely nothing wrong with knowing when you're done. It's like the lyrics of a good song:

You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run


points to whoever can name the song.


BTW, the phrase 'metric fuckton' is SO going into myd daily vocabulary. I can't believe it wasn't there already! My bad.

membrain said...

Good on ya Suspect.

themorethingschange... said...

Brilliant - flat out brilliant!

~P~

Anonymous said...

It is good to know when it's over. Time for chapter 2.

Anonymous said...

Civilian life and normalcy, here we come!

B.

Anonymous said...

I've been reading your blog awhile now. You're starting to sound like you're trying to convince yourself...

themorethingschange... said...

Anonymous above:

To really understand Suspect, his readers should begin at the beginning and follow the evolution of his thought process.

There's no doubt he's ready to leave. NO DOUBT at all :)

~P~

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