Title: Drill day, woo hoo

Today's Gym Regime: None (was sweating at drill instead)
Random link o' the day: Rare Slash Archive. This is so very, very wrong, for all definitions of wrongness. Trust me.
Hearing: The Matrix
Drinking: Coke Classic
Feeling: Fucking wiped out. On the other hand, there's a cat curled up next to me. I call it an even match.

Summer has officially arrived: I've broken a sweat indoors for the first time since September. It was steamy at drill today, at least in my shop; the A/C labored and toiled its little heart out, but it just couldn't keep up. I spent most of the day simmering in my own fat. Lovely image, isn't it? Imagine being me.

This situation was exacerbated by the fact that my dykemobile had a flat tire this morning, so I took the Fluorescent Orange Pinto of Death down to Aurora. We love the Pinto, but it's a Colorado car: no air conditioning. It's a sweatbox when the ambient temperature outside gets much above 85.

I hate heat. I'm a native Southerner, so I should be used to it, but I still fucking hate being hot.

I am all about air conditioning.

Give Us Your Comments on The Matrix, Marcie:

• Tank emotes so well in this movie, don't you think? He's all cute and sincere, like a post-apocalyptic tour guide.
• I know I'm a big ol' shit-kicking dyke and all, but I have a confession: If Laurence Fishburne were to smolder at me and speak to me in that dead sexy voice of his, I'd have no choice but to jump him. It would be even better if he were reading Shakespearean sonnets. Ooh yeah. Is that wrong of me? Oh well.
• Keanu Reeves is such a DORK. Guh. This movie is good in SPITE of him.
• I love the name Switch. I don't know why. From now on, I insist that you all call me Switch.
• Switch and Trinity were doing it.

And How Was Your Day?

Besides being hot? It was okay. Boring, as drill weekends usually are. Our illustrious shop chief, who resembles nothing so much as a Latino fireplug with slicked-back hair, is back from four months of Air Force training. The cat is back, and the mice can no longer play. It was fun while it lasted; for the first time since this guy took over the shop, we were getting off work at a somewhat reasonable hour, instead of whenever the guy felt like releasing us. I hate shop chiefs who wield their measly power like a giant phallus. Oh, well. I only have one more drill weekend.

Yes, that's right... only three more drill days and I am no longer a member of the U.S. Air Force. Hoorah, my friends, hoorah. I have been anticipating this day for two years, if not longer. Trust me when I say there will be much rejoicing.

Will I miss it? I'll miss the people, and the planes. There's nothing quite like straddling the spine of an F-16 Falcon at 8:30 on a crisp Saturday morning, BDU shirt off, with the breeze ruffling your hair, listening to jets turn and burn. I love working on the birds. I'll miss that.

I won't miss the politics, the paperwork, the endless block training classes, weigh-ins, blues, going upstairs to headquarters, smelling like JP-8, the ridiculously early hours, the meager pay, and hiding the best part of who I am for fear of my little career. All in all, it's a trade-off. It's just time to move on. I've become so contemptuous of the military's schizophrenia on social policy, not to mention trying to eke out proper maintenance for my jets on a budget that doesn't allow for extra bench stock, or much of anything else. And honestly, I really am tired of hiding in this uniform. Being gay in the military is a challenge I know right well, and I only do this shit once a month. I can't imagine being under that pressure daily, knowing that saying the wrong thing about who you spent last Friday night with can get you thrown out, regardless of your service record. Or beaten and killed, in the case of Private Barry Winchell of the Army. It's not right, and it's not fair, and I don't want to do it any more.

I know I talk about what Ian would call my "dyke angst" quite a bit, and I'm sure some of you get sick of hearing it. To this I say, "It's okay. I understand, especially if you're not gay. But tough shit; I'll talk about it all I want." This is important enough to me that I spend a lot of my life trying to figure out how to balance being a lesbian and being married to a man, no matter how sweet and wonderful that man is. It's not fucking easy, and yes, I do spend a lot of time hashing things out in this forum. This journal is, by turns, my personal exorcist, my confessional, my patient ear, and my audience. There is about 90% more random weirdness going on in my head than here, so be thankful I don't share.

Anyway. I'm going to finish watching The Matrix and send Cynthia some e-mail. Y'all have fun, now.

-- marcie.

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