Time out of Mind

Leon,

I found myself awake at roughly 0200 this morning to the sound of my cell phone screaming its cheerful beat of Super Mario fame. Peeling myself out of my sleeping bag and reaching for my phone, I glanced at the caller display which read "Unknown."

No sooner had I read this, the music stopped abruptly, as if the phone had suddenly been placed on silent. Understandably disgruntled, mostly in part due to my rude awakening, I rolled off of my bed, unable to sleep due to an excruciating, hangover-grade headache and nausea that had manifested itself out of the abysmal confines of my weary mind.

Recent nights have been laden with unusual, almost delirious, dreams, often involving friends, new and old, family and an icon — Jim Morrison — on numerous occasions. Now, normally I would chalk these up to the mefloquine — a drug we're required to take once a week to fight malaria. But these are slightly more awkward than the standard mefloquine dream.

These dreams have led to a rereading of Morrison's published poetry and a reassessment of my existence as a whole. I've spent a number of hours since my arrival in this country looking back on the choices I've made in my life and the odd and unforeseen twists and turns I've taken to reach my now not known goal in life.

I don't see myself maintaining a military lifestyle. It goes against everything I am, or at least everything I believe I am. I consider myself a nonconformist, which, as you know, is a major staple of military service. You're expected — commanded — to think and act a certain way and anything otherwise calls for on-the-spot reprimand and "corrective" training — brainwashing, if you want a call to extremes.

I feel I've lost the very freedom I'm supposed to be fighting for. I've grown disgusted with my current lot in life. Simply put, I want to start over. I've grown tired and want so badly to sleep. I'll grow a beard, find a place to myself, and write a book under an alias of sorts. Or even travel the country and write of my misadventures and experiences when I'm finished and spend the rest of my life as an anonymous poet.

Perhaps I should take inspiration from Jack Kerouac and indulge in a little spontaneous prose — see what magic my tired thoughts may concoct. In fact, I may start on that today and e-mail a verdict.

"The 'stranger' was sensed as greatest menace in ancient communities" ~ Jim Morrison.

Peace,

Feelgoode