As many of you may or may not know, I have been working towards joining the Army. Why? You may ask. Or maybe What? I don’t know, I’m not you (most of the time). The point is, I've spent the last 2 years since graduation working a variety of miserable jobs and living the way that my guidance counselor told me I was going to live if I didn’t go to college, did drugs, and spent three years as a moderately priced escort in Tulsa. Poorly, is what I'm trying to illustrate for those of you who find nothing particularly wrong with my previous sentence. Sure, I could move in with my parents and live comfortably and quietly. At least, it will be comfortable until I slowly go insane from lack of occupation and crushing sense of involuntary dependency which I'm not supposed to feel until my children move me into an old folks home at 85 because I keep forgetting to turn off the oven or I put the cat in the fridge. Or really if I got a cat at all since I'm remarkably allergic to them. But I didn’t pay $80,000 to GVSU for that nonsense.
I want to be a god-damned grown up, is what I'm saying. A real one, like the kind they put on sit coms, who are awkwardly funny but ultimately included in more positive sociopolitical statistics than negative ones. I want to be someone like Mr. Feeny, but younger and, you know, a girl. Someone who would never appear on “Everyone Loves Raymond.” Seriously, root canals are written better than the stunningly retarded crap that show still manages to spew into the air on a daily basis.
I want to wake up in the morning with a schedule and the knowledge that my unique skill set is being utilized, valued, and improved upon, instead of ignored and occasionally actively discouraged. Ahem, housekeeping, ahem. I want to buy a car that I didnt find after three weeks of research on craigs list. Maybe even one that is less than 15 years old! I know its a lot to ask, but I've always been a big dreamer. I want to buy gas and food on the same pay check. I want to drink overpriced micro-brews. I want my life to have a point, a purpose, something more meaningful than making sure little Suzy's rental clarinet paperwork is in perfect order. Maybe its simply my perspective, growing up as a military brat, but the military offers that and so much more.
This leads to me to purpose of my post today, my reason for hopping up onto this dusty and disused soapbox I constructed over a year ago. If you try to talk me out of it I will punch in the throat. And you'll never be able to talk again. It will be a punch to end all punches and your vocal cords will fuse together into a useless, but awesome, vocal rope. (You will, however, be eligible to be my arch-nemesis after I gain superhero status from signing up for every possible weird CIA experiment they have to offer.) First of all, telling anyone who has the balls to join the military that their choice is wrong is a shitty thing to do. You wouldn't do that to a teacher, a cop or a fireman, don't do that to a future soldier. It hurts my feelings and makes me doubt myself at a time when I need to be running around like I just won at life and my prize is the library from Beauty and the Beast. Or whatever the super bad-ass equivalent of that library is.
Unrealized fantasies aside, it is downright mean to look at someone who is telling you their incredibly personal, meaningful and life changing decision and treat them like they made this choice out of some weird blend of idiocy and misinformation. Second, why would you do that to me? I have a purpose again, a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and your first instinct is to sabotage it? Some of you reading this know how awful it is to not have any meaningful reason to stagger across the floor in the morning. Better yet, I've lost 15 lbs, and I'm going to lose more because pushups get easier with every pound that disappears. I can see my abs for the first time ever. Literally ever, even in high school I could not see my abs. I have never seen my abs and now in the morning I can look in the mirror and there they are, existing and doing ab things.
I'm becoming healthier, stronger, and happier. The United State Army gave me a reason to do something with my body and mind beyond finding ways to tolerate work in between marathon pinterest sessions. You can be afraid, I know that I’m afraid. You can be upset that I'm leaving after finally coming back to Michigan. You can hug me, you can high five me, you can buy me a beer because I’m pretty sure that once boot camp rolls around I’m gonna need some happy memories to weave into some kind of Drill Sergent repelling patronus. But don't tell me I'm making the wrong choice. Be proud that I have devoted myself to a greater purpose. Be proud that I find you all such a wonderful group of people that I am willing to step forward and devote myself to your safety and freedom. That is how much I fucking love you.
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