In my dream, I'm suddenly in the army
Dec. 4th, 2002 09:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serinde...And we were about to go Over There. (Over where? Don't know.)
I was kitted out but the belt was waaaay too big for me (huzzah! lost weight) and eventually realized oh, that's not for going there, it's for this other bit. Ran back in to where we'd dumped our civvies and got my trusty ol' wolfie belt to hold my pants up. Which, even in my dream, I thought smacked a bit much like individuality for the army.
While we were getting kitted up, I was talking to my buddy and lamenting the fact that I didn't have a copy of the book that my brother-in-law has (in reality, even)--I forget what it's called, something like the Officer's Pocket Guide, but basically it's the Reader's Digest Condensed Version of a whole bunch of The Manuals. It's got bits on everything from how to lay an ambush to how to call in fire support to various ways of finding north--rather like the Worst-Case Survival Handbook series, but for the military. _And_ it fits in your pocket. I covet it greatly. But we didn't have a copy, and I was sad.
Somewhere along the line I met our corporal, who apparently was also corporal to my father when _he_ was in the army, and I was waiting for him to notice the name on my field jacket (though, in reality, my field jacket is not one of Dad's hand-downs; I got it at a gun show). He didn't, so I introduced myself, and we chatted for awhile. He was pretty cool. However, he got in trouble later on. He was eating with a group of civilians at...it wasn't the mess, it was more like a snazzy restaurant, maybe this is the Officer's Club? Even though he's a corporal? But anyways, there was drunkenness int he room and the civilians decided they wanted to see our barracks and hunt through our stuff, and he was not forcible enough to stop them. Unfortunately for him, a colonel was eating at the next table and blamed him for letting these d---ed civilians roust through Army property, and busted him down to grunt. I found him sobbing on his bunk. Poor guy.
After that, our platoon ended up all sitting around painting miniatures. For some reason this was helping the war effort. I was getting annoyed because the paint was drying faster than I could mix the shades I wanted, and because someone always had the color I wanted. (Just like art class in school, really.)
Then Brian woke me up early so we could breakfast at Junior's before work.
I really wonder what corner of my subconscious all that crawled out of. Well, the miniatures bit is pretty darn clear, but the rest? I suspect the corporal came from the fact that I just fixed up the wooden memento Dad's army buddies gave him and hung it over my basement workspace--it seems to me that his name (which I don't remember) was one of the names carved on it.
No vicious flying llamas, though. Too bad.
I'm still not 100% with it this morning.
I was kitted out but the belt was waaaay too big for me (huzzah! lost weight) and eventually realized oh, that's not for going there, it's for this other bit. Ran back in to where we'd dumped our civvies and got my trusty ol' wolfie belt to hold my pants up. Which, even in my dream, I thought smacked a bit much like individuality for the army.
While we were getting kitted up, I was talking to my buddy and lamenting the fact that I didn't have a copy of the book that my brother-in-law has (in reality, even)--I forget what it's called, something like the Officer's Pocket Guide, but basically it's the Reader's Digest Condensed Version of a whole bunch of The Manuals. It's got bits on everything from how to lay an ambush to how to call in fire support to various ways of finding north--rather like the Worst-Case Survival Handbook series, but for the military. _And_ it fits in your pocket. I covet it greatly. But we didn't have a copy, and I was sad.
Somewhere along the line I met our corporal, who apparently was also corporal to my father when _he_ was in the army, and I was waiting for him to notice the name on my field jacket (though, in reality, my field jacket is not one of Dad's hand-downs; I got it at a gun show). He didn't, so I introduced myself, and we chatted for awhile. He was pretty cool. However, he got in trouble later on. He was eating with a group of civilians at...it wasn't the mess, it was more like a snazzy restaurant, maybe this is the Officer's Club? Even though he's a corporal? But anyways, there was drunkenness int he room and the civilians decided they wanted to see our barracks and hunt through our stuff, and he was not forcible enough to stop them. Unfortunately for him, a colonel was eating at the next table and blamed him for letting these d---ed civilians roust through Army property, and busted him down to grunt. I found him sobbing on his bunk. Poor guy.
After that, our platoon ended up all sitting around painting miniatures. For some reason this was helping the war effort. I was getting annoyed because the paint was drying faster than I could mix the shades I wanted, and because someone always had the color I wanted. (Just like art class in school, really.)
Then Brian woke me up early so we could breakfast at Junior's before work.
I really wonder what corner of my subconscious all that crawled out of. Well, the miniatures bit is pretty darn clear, but the rest? I suspect the corporal came from the fact that I just fixed up the wooden memento Dad's army buddies gave him and hung it over my basement workspace--it seems to me that his name (which I don't remember) was one of the names carved on it.
No vicious flying llamas, though. Too bad.
I'm still not 100% with it this morning.
