Home, Not Home, Home

I get the feeling the military loves fucking with SO’s emotions or our mental health.

I’m pretty sure they get a kick out of it.

Wonder if they’d like a kick in the balls. Sounds like a good idea to me. Mhmm, a really good idea to me.

So, everyone that’s read some or all of my whiny, personal blog knows that my sailor had recently gotten home. Back in December. It is now…. March. Forgive me. I actually had to look.

Here back in late Jan, my wonderful man came and visited me. Had an amazing time. My family got to truly meet him and they like him. We spent too much money in Barnes & Nobles. Had a good time.

Back to the current month. March, what a wonderful month. St. Patrick’s Day, an excuse to pinch people and not get hit in return. Parades around the city just for the Irish holiday. The month that shows that spring is coming.

Unless you’re in the military. Then they will send you off again. You don’t get parades if you’re in the military. Spring doesn’t matter to your captain. There are no seasons on your nuclear carrier. Only weapons of mass destruction. Pinching people lead to fights regardless of the Irish tradition of the homeland. Remember, you’re in the military. Those things don’t apply to you anymore.

He had only gotten home a few months ago and now getting ready to leave again on another deployment. It will be months of underways before he leaves again, but a deployment nonetheless.

I read in a book once that out of a four year active contract, a married couple will see each other a total of MAYBE 1/10 to 1/7 of the contract time. Sounds about right to me. Amante has a year and a half left. After the deployment, he’ll be done. That’s five years of contracted work.  I’ve seen him three times. I haven’t done the math, I don’t want to out of the possibility of becoming depressed. But I know it’s low.

 

The military gives and takes.

So love what you get.

I love him.

Hooyah

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