I returned home from work yesterday afternoon to find Luke cowering on his bed under several pillows. He always seemed to think my suggestion that he hang curtains in his room (if for nothing else than to block out that stupid security light that shines in his window all. night. long.) was silly, but now it seemed to have gained some validity.
His apartment was a virtual shinning castle in the afternoon sun and under those two, sad, pillows was the only place he could find solace from the burning sensation in his eyes. The eye surgery, PRK corrective laser surgery, to be exact, had caused him to be uber sensitive to the light. No curtains = no escape.
I hung a sheet in the window.
Life immediately seemed better (and much, much darker).
I am no marketing expert. I am spending serious time, however, pouring over marketing letter templates for my world vision project. Part of the problem, really, is that I've never actually experienced the Experience, the event Im attempting to market.
That is something that will hopefully soon be fixed, though. The traveling exhibit is coming here in a few weeks and I hope to drag my entire small group into participating. Yes, I am just that kind of witty and scheming. It'll be around the corner from my house in Tacoma (as opposed to Luke's house in Lakewood where I spent the bulk of my time), so the location couldn't be better. The only sad point -- Luke is scheduled to be in stupid Umatilla that weekend -- a mystical magical place in Oregon that, for reasons I dont really understand, needs him to guard it. They say something about "targeted nuclear facility" but I think thats a bunch of silliness.
Not really ...
And that brings us to a new subject ... his need to go traipsing about doing his "duty."
I'm not the bitter almost-Army wife, really. I came into this whole thing willingly and knowing exactly what I'm doing -- ie jumping head long into constant loneliness caused by his absence and need, nay, requirement to be traipsing about guarding stuff or training or whatever.
That does not mean I have to like it. That does not mean I do not cry every. single. time. he leaves. That just means that the pain is self inflicted and that I have no right to be a hater when it comes to the Army. Yes, its unfair. Yes, it sucks. Yes, its scary. Yes, I will do whatever I have to do to get by.
But I reserve the right to complain on my blog. So there.
Perhaps I'll post a long, more thorough, Army wife manifesto at a later date.