Friday, June 19, 2009

The Three Year Itch

(Original Post: October 17, 2006 - Tuesday)

It's happening. That itch. The twitch. The gripe of a bitch unhappy with her sitch. Let me pitch it to you this way, cause that way is their way, and there's no way I can be happy in that niche.
The Navy has taught me, molded me, scolded me, bought me out. Told me that happy only lasts three years, then fears of confinement set in, and you know it's time my friend, to move on. We all know the feeling. Too well. It dwells. Sells your mind to the first bidder, who will fix and flip. Sip wine while they rip out your insides, and put in stainless steal appliances and stone floors. You'll sell for more that way. You can't stay in one place too long, the same ol' song and dance doesn't stand a chance. We've got to bob and weave, send and receive, and eventually leave. We achieve the goal we set for our soul and then call the detailer when we are in our window. A window you can't see through, and won't ever open. Hoping for air or simple solution. But it will never bring resolution. And you will complain around every bend, but you will sign those papers and volunteer again. Cause it's dependable and steady. The only thing in your life that is. This biz isn't always about peace, but honor pays the current lease. And I know I'll shed those world-weight tears, as I watch my daughter wave from all those piers, as I sail off to places I have no business being, and see things I'd be better off not seeing. Whatever the case, I'm on my way to a ship to take a dip in the Atlantic for a bit. Give me three years to fix, then I'll flip. I can see new wooden floors from here. The Navy loves me. This I know. It's a creed and a code that tell me so. Little ones to it belong. Alone we are weak ... and together, just weak in a group. Hello Virginia. Goodbye to my Land of Mary. I'm weary, oh so very, ready to change my course and keep it steady. For three years, at most. Then return to shore and retire there. With my daughter there, and a closet full of clothes I'm allowed to wear.

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