Maybe I am half a veteran

I thought no one ever bothered with my blog any more so I just ended up writing long meandering introspective, disjointed posts.  It is the sadness that chases me, and the whole depression experience that has been a worry lately.

But then someone put a sort of ad out.  A link to this lovely life story, written between and beside the lines.  Now I feel pressure.

I started to write about the strangeness of playing music with PTSD recovering Marine vets who came out of the music therapy program.  It is a new thing, and it works wonders.  Why I seem more shell shocked than they do, I don't know.  I was a reservist.  At one point, a man without a base.

That last part is a long story, but the cool part was that they encouraged me to find a base and, in the event of an emergency, report to the post office.  I guess the post office would then ship me to some Air Force outpost.  Never happened, and one day I received an honorable discharge in the mail.

All that was post Vietnam and pre Mideast build ups and televised, video-game looking assaults.  My one item of gratitude in all that is that there is no draft.  The Draft was a horrible thing.  If you had an unlucky number, your life choices, at an age when you have no idea what they should be, are drastically narrowed.  I am blown away that people volunteer, considering the quality of people who direct where they will be deployed.

But in Vietnam thousands upon thousands of slave soldiers died.  Other injuries and collateral damage is incalculable.  And they were treated poorly by many of the same hypocrites who now blubber and fawn every time they see a person in uniform.  I don't get it.  I think it just makes some of the real deal, like the ex sniper who I back up musically, feel more isolated and apart.  I don't know, but I don't really thank anyone.  I don't send anyone to fight where I would never go, either.

My policy would likely be slightly different than what we have done in the Mideast for many decades.  I wish I better understood the motives because nothing I hear rings true from top to bottom.

Guys like my friend fight to protect their brothers and sisters in arms.  What else is there when the big picture is not all that clear and they are in lands peopled by insane and hysterical populations?

Anyway, back when I was discharged, reservists got zip for their six year obligation in the way of benefits.  I wonder if they make some of it retroactive now.  I know they did decide to give benefits since they have misused the guard units and such, sending them abroad (guard was supposed to be the modern day militia whose job is to protect the domestic side of things. DEFENSE).  Sick.  Really sick.

The good thing is that we don't have 100,000 dead from our excursions to win the hearts and minds of the heartless and mindless lunatics in various hell holes over there.   That doesn't do much for those who come back in pieces or emotionally shattered.  One day in that part of the world, wearing a uniform, and I'd be a basket case.  Or I think I would.

I did it again--rambled and made it too long.  If I think anyone really reads this, I will do better.  It will help me cure the blues which have made me wonder if I lost control of my mind a time or two.  I think I am getting a grip again though.  So many people are crazier and way more annoying than I am, so I should not feel like the biggest waste of space since the largest part of the city of Memphis, and Graceland.  Graceland is a serious ripoff and disappointment.  Sun Studios is the tour you want. Little hole in the wall and the best tourist thing in Memphis.