Moving Day

Days like this remind me why I'm so glad that I'm leaving. The complete lack of efficiency and effectiveness by those around me continues to astonish. Granted, moving usually makes me cranky, so we can just chalk it up to that.

But after a day of being incredibly busy since 7 in the morning, hauling things, being rained on, hauling more things, sweating, getting rained on, chasing elevators, hauling things, braving hills....I look like this

Its not pretty, is it? Granted, the sweat has since dried in my hair, so it's just a little stiff. It's my stench that is more disconcerting. But I have formation in a half hour...so showering at this point would be counter productive.

It's also disconcerting how much stuff I have. Most people are moving a single laundry cart. Between my roommate and I, we have two carts, a floor dolly and a long dolly. It's impressive that we can fit everything that goes into those boxes into a single barracks room. But there you have it.

Anyway, I need to set aside time to write some letters, write some poetry....write SOMEthing. I'll be sitting in this room, door open til 1600, for the next two days. Room restriction, apparently, because I'm outprocessing, and therefore not to be trusted. 

I love this feeling.

Prologue

I think they make the S1 department on the 4th floor so that you have to go down a long hallway, with no one but yourself to think about what it is that you're about to do. That's when I have most of my second thoughts about things.

I mean, most people would think that I'm crazy. Throwing away a steady job, a shot at being great at something, a college education... because...because.....because......I don't like it here?

It's a flimsy excuse. I'm not going to lie. I wish that I had a better 'reason' to explain it. But the fact is, that I'm leaving the United States Military Academy

 to finish my degree in Texas,

with my boyfriend, 

hopefully a dog, 

maybe teach some yoga classes, 

and one day become a published author, instead of just a half cocked dreamer or part time poet.

 Could I have taken  more of a 180 with my life?

Going from dress-right-dress and strack lines and mess halls....to spandex pants and homecooked meals, empty notebooks and new dreams? It's like something out of a faery tale, like a happy ending that I got without working for it.

I just don't know that this is the place that I want to be right now. I'm angry all the time. No one wants to be accountable for their actions, people would rather stab someone else in the back than help out a classmate. I'm the bad guy for wanting to do the right thing, or for getting worked up about just doing the right thing. It's so, ridiculously easy, to just do the right thing. Maybe that's why I can hardly make it through the day without losing my mind at someone, or can go almost an entire day without speaking to a single soul... Or maybe it's the first 19 years of my life that are holding me back. Not something I want to blame it on, but there you have it. But either way, there is no way that I can make my junior year commitment for the next 10 years of my life knowing that I'm this angry. Whether I go back or not, I have to excise...whatever it is that I'm dealing with before I can be an officer. Before I can be a leader. Before I can stand in front of a platoon, and give them all of my attentions and all of my energy, when none of it is being diverted into being angry or upset.

But until then, I have the love of my life and a life I want to live, the perfect setting to figure things out.