I have a confession to make. I went to the library yesterday, and of the nine books I brought home, I've already read five. Yes, I read fast --very fast, when I'm caught up in the action-- but this is an admission to something akin to escapism. I do it when I'm able. To slow the time, or to lengthen it to the lifetime of a narrative, perhaps. Last summer I would wait out the time until my supper break during the 3-11 shift of cashiering, and then immerse myself in a story until the sweet half hour passed. And when I got home, I would have a snack and finish the book, most likely. Fiction; childrens, young adult, and adult, pouring through my head. It was a good summer for reading.
I went out yesterday and bought the things I needed for BT. I have everything in a startlingly small pile near the post-shelves in the livingroom, and beside it lies the bag I was trying to mend earlier. For a headache, I have left the remaining few holes until I can see straight. (That's due recompense for reading so much, I guess.) The bag is olive drab, of thick, durable canvas labelled "Barnett" with "Smyth" crossed out. Hilary Walton nee Smyth is the donor of said bag. She no longer needed it after she left the Army Band some years back, though she is now in the Air National Guard. She is one of my heros; one of the toughest women I know, but gentle, intelligent, and refined. I'm glad to take her bag with me to Basic.
I talked to Sgt. Buckner yesterday when I went to pick up some papers from him, and was pleased by two things. One is the fact that next week I will spend at a reception area in Fort Jackson, until enough people come to make up a company. When my company leaves the reception station, I will suddenly have a mailing address but not until then. This means that the only person I know will be coming to Fort Jackson with me, on the same bus, from the same area, will likely be in my company. I don't know his name, but he is a bright young man. Dark hair, dark eyes, a junior in highschool, a musician who also understands computers, and who is planning to go to Fort Sam next summer to study radiology. I liked him when I met him, and was glad to know we were at least to be in the same place for a couple days before boot camp. Now I'm likely to see more of this one friend, which makes life there less daunting, somehow.
The second thing was merely Spc. O'Neal, about whom my brother is teasing me. He was with Sgt. Buckner in his office, sorting papers; apparently his MOS is computer related too, and so he's generally useful in the Armory. He also was friendly and courteous. though a more brown and clean-cut individual, around my age. I'm glad to know the people of my unit. I might end up in Iraq with them for an extended period of time. To be frank, O'Neal struck me as the sort of guy I would like to know better. I liked him.
I'm going to go for a walk with my brother Noah tonight. Not only do I need the exercise, I enjoy the company and the conversation.