Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

Journal Entry Sun 30 Jan 2011
Teresa started a blog when I left for much the same reason as I’ve been keeping this journal. It’s a means for her to reconcile her feelings and share her thoughts on this deployment. She’s not looking for pity, encouragement, or debate; she’s merely putting herself out there on the web for people to follow and enjoy. I have to admit that she is pretty damn witty at times. For the most part, her blogs are pretty light hearted and funny, not the somber, depressing entries you see in similar blogs. In one of her recent blogs she included her thoughts on deployment countdowns. I myself try not countdown; A) I’m too busy to keep track of the days, and B) it’s just too depressing, particularly when you’re still in the 300’s. But, when I was reading this particular blog, I looked up at her countdown and thought, “Holy crap! It’s been 20 days already!”
Admittedly, I have found myself counting Sundays. I look forward to Sundays for a couple of reasons, most importantly because I know I will be Skyping with my family the next day. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this previously, but I cherish my weekly Skyping sessions with Teresa and the kids. Because the internet café is only open from 8am-8pm, we’ve figured out that the best time for us to get together over the web is in the morning (their time) while the kids are getting ready for school. I get to catch up on the previous week’s activities as well as see all their smiling faces. So while none of that occurs on Sunday, it gives me something to think about all day.
Another thing I enjoy about Sunday is that we don’t have to be in to work until noon or so. I have the whole morning to myself, to sleep in a little bit, get some PT in, do some laundry, and get a haircut. Finally Sunday is my day to indulge myself at the chow hall. We call it “Fatterday.” All week long I am careful about what I eat. The food here is such abundance and good quality that you could literally eat yourself onto the reality show, “Biggest Loser.” So after a week of skimping and watching fat grams, I treat myself to biscuits and gravy, hamburgers and fries, and a nice big bowl of ice cream (sometimes two).
This is how we mark the passing of a week in Afghanistan. Outside of Sundays every day is just like the last. We have nothing to differentiate one day from the next. I get up at 6 am, do some form of PT, eat chow, work all morning, eat noon chow, work all afternoon, go to evening chow, work until 11 pm or so, go to bed, get up at 6am and do it all over again. Some days are better than others. Some days the enemy makes Marines into heroes; some days the Marines make the enemy into martyrs. Either way, and not to sound callous, my days are pretty much the same. The monotony of it all is broken up by brief periods of joy when I am able to hear Teresa’s voice or see her pretty face, when I can talk to the kiddos and find out how their week went. Those moments help get me through the rest of the week. Each day I wake up is one more day closer to getting home to them. That’s my countdown.