mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Things are starting to work themselves out. Things are starting to settle down in my emotional snowglobe. Don't get me wrong. If I could reasonably go back to Missouri for this last month, I would do it in a heartbeat. I am homesick as can be. If anybody in Mid-Missouri is reading this -- and I know you do -- and can offer me a place to live for a month, rent free, then send me an email. But other than the homesickness and a desire to see a certain someone, things have settled down a bit from all of the stressing. First off, my sister's bum husband came back. He realized he didn't have a car or, as they say down here, "a pot to piss in," so he came back and kissed ass until my sister let him back in. Despite that last part, I must totally applaud my sister in making a stand. In my memory, she has never been so bold and brave. My sister is short. Under five feet tall short. One of my first lessons learned in the trials and tribulations of life was that you should never piss off a short girl. They have the same anger and distress as average-sized people... it's just boiled down and concentrated into their smaller stature. My sister once threatened to stuff me in the microwave so she could watch me cook. And I cried for a week. But that's neither here nor there. The overall point is this: the boy is back (for now), my sister is happy (as she should be), and I don't have to be a cheerleader. I think I may have talked to the right person to get things rolling for me to ship from down here at the end of this month. If you are new -- and you may be since I had over 100 hits yesterday (who did a yahoo search for "Jon-Paul Brown"?) -- you must know that I am going into the Air Force at the end of May. The plan was to move much of my stuff to Mississippi before shipping out from New Orleans instead of St. Louis. I was told a bit of paperwork would have to be done in order for this to happen, but it shouldn't be a problem. Until I was told just prior to moving that, since I didn't find anyone to replace me (in other words, I didn't find anyone to recruit), I would have to drive back to Missouri at the end of May and ship from there. This gave me loads of stress just before driving down. Where would I find the money to come all the way back up there? Where would I stay? How would I get around? I simply could not do it. So, today I went to a recruiter in Louisiana. I told him my story, asked him a few questions, and gave him my recruiter's phone number. He wasn't at all pleased, so he gave my recruiter a little courtesy call. Yada, yada, yada... I received word that paperwork is being filed and I should be able to ship from down here. The only potential problem is that the paperwork requires 30 days to go completely through. As of today, I have 28 days. Why can't the military ever do things quickly? Now, I must say I feel a little badly about having this recruiter call my home recruiter. I've spent the past year with my home recruiter, and we've been through a lot together. I know every piece of literature says that your recruiter isn't your friend, he's just a salesman trying his hardest to win you over. But, without going into much detail, I feel like my home recruiter would easily be a good bud if he wasn't my recruiter. He tells me things about his family life. We go out for beers. He's caught my back more than a couple of times, and I do things voluntarily to make him look good in front of his boss. So, I felt bad hearing this recruiter who I knew for only a few minutes call and give my recruiter some grief. But man... it sure feels good knowing I will probably (hopefully!!) leave from down here. I am writing from my dad's farmhouse tonight. I came over here late this evening to sit in a meeting with a man interested in using part of my dad's land to graze his horses. This guy was total cowboy. He came to the meeting riding on a horse, he tilted his cowboy hat when greeting my step-mom, and his speech was slow but sure. He was the perfect person for this writer to sit back and observe. I wish I could bottle that kind of characterization. While we were waiting on the cowboy to come along, my dad showed me the tractor he had built by combining two trashed tractors of similar ilk. Neat. That rhymed. He cranked it up, backed it out of the barn, and asked if I wanted to give it a spin. I said, "Of course I do, Dad!" I like how the front of the tractor looks like it has eyes and a mouth, with its expression as if it is singing "Old MacDonald" while I mow. Perhaps I just watched too many cartoons as a kid. Ok. I'm off, off, and away. Keep my good buddy Justin in your thoughts and prayers. He is spending his first day at boot camp as you read this. He probably feels scared, alone, and incredibly stressed out. Exactly how I will feel in 27 days. So, yeah. Keep him in mind. I'll keep you updated about how he is doing whenever I get the news. 12:13 a.m. - Wed., Apr. 30, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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