"Let us go forth a while, and get better air in our lungs. Let us leave our closed rooms...
The game of ball is glorious."

--Walt Whitman

Thursday, January 11, 2007


Author's note: This post is not about baseball, or knitting, or indeed anything either constructive or happy.

I am so very angry right now.

Last night I was hanging out with my girlfriends and we'd gotten a few cocktails in us when Shrub came on the TV and we decided to MST3K his little speech. And as usual, when he said:

"Blah blah blah blah sectarian violence blah blah steadfast blah blah blah achieve victory blah",

all I heard was:

"I am Emperor Bushus Augustus! Bring me a fiddle! And some matches."

Because really, that's all he ever says, if not in those exact words. But we sat there and we mocked him (it's a bit like shooting fish in a barrel) and it was fun.

And then I woke up this morning to the news that the Minnesota National Guard's 1st Brigade, 34th Infantry Division, which was due to come home in March after 15 months in Iraq, has had their tour extended "indefinitely".

I have been fortunate enough to know only one person who had the bad luck to be sent to that hellhole our wise and gracious leaders have created in Iraq. That one person, however, is a very dear friend. The closest thing I have to a brother, actually.

He serves with the Minnesota National Guard's 1st Brigade, 34th Infantry Division. He was supposed to come home in March. We were starting to make plans, nothing earth-shaking. He was going to come see my new apartment. I was going to make dinner for him and his wife. We were going to have a beer. These were not plans which would have changed the world. But they were there to be anticipated. The days were being marked off in the calendar of the mind, and March did not seem so very far away.

My temper, when roused, normally burns hot and bright and very briefly. Not today. Today my anger is a cold and heavy thing, and I feel chilled from the inside out. I do not think this chill will be readily banished.

I gave up trying to make sense of this godforsaken war a long time ago, and chose instead to count off the days with all the patience I could muster, and to live in hope. That hope is not dead, not by any means, but it has been given a good swift kick in the teeth. Yesterday was one day closer to his return. Today is one more day in this seemingly endless parade of dangers. Yesterday it was easy to believe that everything would be okay. Today it is difficult.

I am so very angry right now.

He was supposed to come home in March.

0 rejoinders: