Dead Men Tell No Tales: The Keesler Saga IV: Foreshadowing

What is Dead Men Tell No Tales? It is a selection of (hitherto) undisclosed, private ruminations and epiphanies. Most take the form of (slightly) edited letters to unnamed recipients, but some have been scavenged from the depths of private journals recently rediscovered. Over the next little while (however long it takes – days, weeks, months, years?) I’ll be posting them in episodic fashion for the reading pleasure of my nonexistent audience.

In The Keesler Saga, our melancholy author reflects on his experiences at his MOS School. Foreshadowing is aptly named as it is the last journal entry for a long time (and second to last overall); I just have a hard time with these things.
Haven’t been as studious in updating this as I wanted to be. I can’t even remember what we did on that last PT I bitched about; I know Echo Five Hotel led it, and he’s pretty quick…oh yeah! We went to the fucking beach! We ran off base and down to the beach, did a bunch of running in sand and other crazy shit, then we came back. It sucked, of course. Anyway.
For the longest damn time, my roomate has been a whiny shitbaggy slut. He’s finally getting kicked out (he claims that his parents used to beat the shit out of him while he was sleeping, so he has PTSD, and he’s “mentally unfit for service”) so that’s great. He’s always extremely disrespectful to NCOs and just about anyone. That’s been degrading my motivation and will to keep this journal and what not.
Tomorrow we’re supposed to be “killed” at PT again. Today was pretty bad – we did log drills, and the log fucked my shoulder all up. It’s like my shoulder has blisters that are popping, because it’s oozing and shit, but that’s just from the log rubbing on it. I had a headache all day after PT, probably from the log bouncing against my head, and I just wanted to sleep all day… but we had field day (which means cleaning before the 1830 formation) followed by mandatory study at a cafe across the street from the barracks for about an hour followed by me having to go get chows for the platoon… I got about an hour nap and cleaned at around 1730 and just had chow at the cafe. The nap took some of the edge off of the headache.
Weekend’s coming up. Oorah!

Dead Men Tell No Tales: The Keesler Saga III: Venting

What is Dead Men Tell No Tales? It is a selection of (hitherto) undisclosed, private ruminations and epiphanies. Most take the form of (slightly) edited letters to unnamed recipients, but some have been scavenged from the depths of private journals recently rediscovered. Over the next little while (however long it takes – days, weeks, months, years?) I’ll be posting them in episodic fashion for the reading pleasure of my nonexistent audience.

In The Keesler Saga, our melancholy author reflects on his experiences at his MOS School. Venting recounts the daily stress of training at Keesler while trying to maintain a positive attitude.
Today we had PT at 0600. It was just my class, the “baby” class, which consists of 11 Marines at the moment. Echo Four Whiskey, Echo Three Sierra, Echo Three Asa, Echo Two Delta, Echo Two Alpha, Echo Two Golf, Echo Two Alpha Deuce, Echo Two Charlie, Echo Two Hotel, Echo Two Bravo, and Echo Two Hotel Deuce. We did a deck of pain – each of us had a hand of cards, the number signifying how many repetitions of an exercise (determined by the suit) we did. Diamonds were POW push-ups (do X amount of push ups, and then X amount of military presses with weights on your knees), Spades were Hindu squats, Hearts were lunges, and Clubs were military presses. We each had ~20 lbs in weight the entire time and we went through the entire deck. (Face cards were 15 reps, and aces were 20.)
Class was terrible. We’re in the semiconductors block, learning about power amplifiers (which involves transistors in various configurations – single ended, phase shifter, push-pull, complimentary and darlington pair to name a few) and doing Labvolt. Labvolt consists of plugging a circuit board into a computer and “having at it,” while the directions make little sense and the math hardly works out. (1/1 is slightly less than 1? 6.2 is more than 8? What the fuck?) On the plus side, we got to joke around with Echo Five Hotel a bit.
We didn’t get out until 1740, and so Alpha and I went straight to chow. We had a field day formation at 1830 that we just barely made, and from there we had to field day. I was secured around 1920 but had to go pick up chows for the morning, which I did with Hotel Deuce and Echo Two Sierra Deuce (the only female student in all of TMDE). I got back around 2020 and realized I needed to do my laundry so I started that. When I changed it over at 2100 or so, ONE OF THE WASHERS WAS MALFUNCTIONING AND BASICALLY SOAKED MY CLOTHES WITHOUT DOING A SPIN CYCLE. So that’s pretty fucking gay. Hopefully shit will dry, BECAUSE WE HAVE PT A HALF HOUR EARLIER TOMORROW SO WE CAN DO SOME GOD DAMNED STUPID LONG ASS RUN OR SOME BULLSHIT. Ugh.
Our next dynamic learning exercise will be Labvolt. We will be doing a lot of them. Ready…learn! Red, red, green, ONE! Red, red, green, TWO! Red, red, green, THREE!
Funny/awkward moment of the day: as I’m returning from putting my laundry in the wash, my foot crashes into the door in the hallway (so it sounds like I ran into the glass door). I don’t make it very far into the hallway before Echo Four Whiskey, Echo Six Romeo, and Echo Three Zulu look straight at me. I freeze, awkwardly, unsure of what to do and milking in the awkwardness. This of course drags me into a discussion with them, in which I get to tell Echo Six Romeo about my brother’s bastard child, much to the amusement of all. “Built on a foundation of love, trust, alcohol and unwanted children, his is a marriage born to last! By the way, the first two were sarcastic.”

Dead Men Tell No Tales: The Keesler Saga II: Reflection

What is Dead Men Tell No Tales? It is a selection of (hitherto) undisclosed, private ruminations and epiphanies. Most take the form of (slightly) edited letters to unnamed recipients, but some have been scavenged from the depths of private journals recently rediscovered. Over the next little while (however long it takes – days, weeks, months, years?) I’ll be posting them in episodic fashion for the reading pleasure of my nonexistent audience.

In The Keesler Saga, our melancholy author reflects on his experiences at his MOS School. Fresh Start is an earnest attempt at journal keeping.
I suppose I should keep a diary of sorts. It has been a long time since I’ve logged my life. A lot has happened in the mean times. It’s been nearly…three(?) years. I still haven’t talked to Haley, though I have tried to once or twice, I think. I noticed one day, for instance, that I was listed as a “hero” of hers on her MySpace and tried to send a probing letter… it was probably fairly scathing, and summarily ignored. This was, of course, before I made the decision to join the Marine Corps.
There is much to write of that. I am nearly done with my first year of service, after all, and I haven’t even written anything about it. Reflection is a skill I tend not to employ. I have become an extremely private person. I don’t like sharing myself with others. I remember how I used to desire so ardently to get out of my house and “live my own life” free from the influence of my mother. Away from her I could be my own person. Yet as soon as I got away, I didn’t know what to do, and met with several failures, I receded further into myself.
I don’t really count myself as having many friends as this point. I am well liked by the people I like, I suppose. And I suppose, in some way, I am cared about. And yet, I am uncomfortable sharing myself with people. I just don’t trust anyone with my feelings. I don’t know if I am afraid of rejection or afraid of being thought less of. I don’t know. I am afraid of being alone but that fear of isolation is separating me from the possibility of ever being meaningfully close to anyone.
These are all general statements that could be elaborated on later. I always do this in my first entries. I need to discuss my family, life in Bellingham, life in exile, life in the Corps. I need to talk about people I knew, things I did, things I’m doing. The night is late tonight. I need to wake up in two or three hours and do some homework for my semiconductors block (we are learning about transistors as used in amplifiers – common emitter, common collector, and common base) and then PT at 0600.
But I’ll leave with a funny story of sorts. Last week, on Thursday (before we were released for the weekend) I’m taking a leak in the head. I fill in from the left, as dictated by Man Law, when suddenly someone fills in the stall to my direct right. This being a breach in Man Law, I look over, expecting to see one of my class mates and to engage in some awkward conversation. However, instead, I see Echo Six Romeo, the chief instructor of the school. I lock my head forward and awkwardness ensues.
Then he says something I definitely didn’t expect. “That’s a nice watch you’ve got there, Durden.” Mulling that over, reveling in the awkwardness, all I can manage to say is “Uhh… thanks, Echo Six.” After we finish our business, on my way out, I say “I would have complimented you for your watch, but I was afraid of the implications.”
This is a long running joke at the school house (the “nice watch so-and-so”) and I’ll relate the original tale some other time. I feel like “signing off” but that’s rather stupid. I do wish to say, however, that I am more used to being referred to by my last name or by a nick name than my first name at this point. No one calls me “John” anymore. My heart sank a little, writing that. I used to want to be special to someone, anyone. 

Dead Men Tell No Tales: The Keesler Saga I: Arrival

What is Dead Men Tell No Tales? It is a selection of (hitherto) undisclosed, private ruminations and epiphanies. Most take the form of (slightly) edited letters to unnamed recipients, but some have been scavenged from the depths of private journals recently rediscovered. Over the next little while (however long it takes – days, weeks, months, years?) I’ll be posting them in episodic fashion for the reading pleasure of my nonexistent audience.

In The Keesler Saga, our melancholy author reflects on his experiences at his MOS School. Arrival was a reflection from a few scant days after reporting in to the detachment.

Every so often, I think it would be a good idea to start a journal. I have a bad memory, you see, and even though I sometimes hate my life, I’d hate even more to forget it. And yet, so far, most of the important details ARE forgotten. Where to start?

I used to hate my family. That used to define me, shape my very being. I couldn’t recall much of why – my mother was cruel and emotionally abusive; my sister was a dramatic, trust-betraying bitch; my father was an empty-promise flingin’ wreck full of self pity, if he was around; my brother was a tortured alcoholic with so much wasted promise. I don’t speak to them much now – my mom seemingly realized her mistakes after I left almost two years ago, so we’re on better terms.
I don’t get along with, understand, and most of the time, desire the company of women. I have, as most males have, been smmitten with my fair share of girls. I had a girlfriend. I even think I fell in love, once (may still be in love, in fact), though it was an unrequited one. I know all of the right things for my friends to say, but rarely know the words for myself.
I have few friends, and the roster grows slimmer as years go by. Even before I left for boot camp, Kai and I had grown apart. Katie tolerates me, at best. Nick, Jake, Nate…all buddies, but little more. Rachel could have been good, but I messed that up by wanting more. Abigail? Never had much of a chance.
Which brings me here, to the Marine Detachment on Keesler Air Force Base, serving as a Private First Class in the United States Marine Corps. Where else was I to go? Give me free time, and I brood. See?
There is much to write about, and at the same time, very little. Odd? Perhaps. The two most important things in my life – Sara, and the novel – seem so far away. I miss them.
Today was the end of my first weekend at KAFB. On Friday, I went to the mall with Sierra (arrived last week), Bravo (buddy from boot), and Kilo (cool guy from Chicago). Kilo had to drive Ruthy, his Navy broad, back to base, so we rendezvoused with Zulu (shares similar views, good music taste) and Whiskey (wrestler) and ate at El Ranchos. Saturday I saw Step Up 2 with Bravo and Sunday I spent watching movies on T.V.
I am unfulfilled. 20:57.