An email I recently re-discovered. Sometimes, a news broadcast pulls me right back and once again, I am a family member, awaiting the next phone call, dreading the unfamiliar car pulling up outside the house, checking the latest bad news aganst a mental map, refusing to answer the unexpected knock on the door, laughing with relief when an instant message pops up at work. The email writer finishes his commitment to the military reserves in late-summer 2007. Other than the prospect of IRR (individual ready reserves), with every passing day he is closer to leaving the limbo of training and deployment behind him.
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February 22, 2005
Mom,
Sorry for the (previous) blank email. Hotmail has been acting pretty weird, due in part to the huge influx of people coming into the country and writing home like there's no tomorrow.
IN blah blah blah ABOUT blah stuff and blah blah THREE a e i o u 1 2 3 4 5 WEEKS blah blah etc. tie a yellow WE ribbon round the SHOULD old oak tree blah BE freaking blah blah HOME.
sorry that was just to throw off the email filters so i don't get in trouble for "leaking classified information". whatever. i'm sure family support has let everyone know what the deal is anyway. i just wanted to let you know direct from the source. how is everything back home? i hope things are going well with grandma and grandpa, and jenny. anybody heard from zack? when is he supposed to be back? anyway, i just wanted to drop a line and let you know everything is ok.
love and hugs from iraq
Saturday, June 2, 2007
at
2:39 PM
Labels: Iraq email home, leaving Iraq, military email filters Posted by Chatdegarde
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yet another blog
With a multitude of blogs on the internet, beginning yet another blog is likely just an exercise in self-indulgence, narcissism or futility (if no one ever reads a blog, does it really exist?), or perhaps yet another vestige of manifest destiny, staking a claim in cyberspace because actual real estate is ever more scarce and prohibitively expensive, inevitably oppressing someone or something, somewhere, degrading the planet and doing irreparable harm to one's own psyche, although I choose to think of writing as a step into the abyss, an act of faith, of hope. Just love to keep a sentence going, like batting at a balloon when I was a kid.
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