Friday, September 10, 2004

I'm sitting here working on my St. Petersburg pictures, and I keep flipping over to AOL to check my email. I know Fred's at a trial right now, but I can't help myself. And even though I know I'm not expecting anything from him, every time I flip back to AOL and see my inbox still sitting there with exactly 40 messages in it, I get disappointed all over again. Or worse, I get 41 messages, but that last one is from somebody who wants to enlarge my penis or sell me drugs. Right now, drugs don't sound like such a bad idea.

Shortly after Fred's Charlottesville trip got cancelled out from under us, it was back on. He sent me a list of stuff to pack and bring over to him, and I started feeling good again. Over the past couple of days though, we're getting bad vibes on the whole stupid thing and we're awaiting the final answer out of DC. Even though the conference is still several weeks away, we need that answer NOW. The kids and I leave for the States no later than Tuesday, so we are running out of time for me to play baggage courier.

So here I sit, checking, checking, checking my email and feeling more and more desperate by the minute. I've been on the verge of tears for the past few days, and I just can't stand not knowing how much longer this is going to go on.

Meanwhile Fred is jumping through his own butt with trials and hearings and paperwork in Iraq. His courtroom lost windows in a mortar attack a couple weeks ago (he was out of town at the time, thank god), a couple days ago one of his attorneys was in a humvee that was flipped 3 times by an IED, and yesterday he heard a report that a friend of ours (yet another attorney) has been injured in the International Zone (no idea how or how badly). So the last thing I want to do is make Fred feel even worse, but I feel completely alone here. I really need him to be at this stupid conference.

And the hell of it is that it's not even some Great and Glorious Call to Duty that is potentially keeping him away. Instead it is nothing more than a bureaucratic screwup in the issuing of the invitations. Do we invite the Regional Defense Counsels this year or don't we? Yes, we do. No, we don't. Oh, wait, yes, we do. I'm sorry, but pregnant teenagers do a better job of planning weddings!

It's not like we're owed this chance to get together. After all, there are plenty of poor bastards in Iraq who haven't even managed to get midtour leave. But you know what? I don't have the energy right now to care about them. All I know is that I was counting on this to get me through until he gets his midtour in January or February, which in turn I'm counting on to get me through until he comes home sometime in July. Yes, May 2004 to July 2005. Count the months--there are 14 of them. Forgive me for wanting to see my husband twice in that time.

As with everything these days it all comes down to politics for me. My husband is stuck over there in that godforsaken hellhole of a country on the orders of the Great Pretender to the Throne. And there are people all across the country who are going to vote for that asshole again who have done nothing more to fight this War Against Terrorism than demonstrate their unwillingness to be cowed by taking the kids to Disney World. It makes me sick.

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