....not even a fighting chance.....**

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Beloved LEGS...

...we are in the final hours.  The last hours I will share the same geographical, physical, emotional, and mental space with you is quickly diminishing.....I feel so powerless, and small, and insignificant and helpless......

.....and because of that, the frustration, and anger I sometimes feel toward the Army, toward our country, toward our politicians, and toward every person who is not collectively, and actively going through this battle with us is.....consuming, and  downright frightens me.

.....we make our way into this enormous, forsaken hanger.....some bleachers and chairs and flags are tucked away in a small section.....there is so much space to fill, we actually look like, little miniature people and the irony is not lost on me.  

Kids are running around playing, wives are standing stoic in beautiful dresses.....

I have to use the bathroom.  

I don't understand.....why!?! on THIS day, we cannot have access to a clean bathroom with toilet paper, soap and paper towels.....can we not be treated with dignity?  Its really not like everyone didn't know we were coming- they had time to set up the flags and chairs....The anger makes me want to lash out and rebel.....and I honestly think I should have just squatted on the grass in front of the Apache Static display.....sometimes.....rebellion is control......

....I know we laughed about it, but its not funny.  They issued you....A RUSTY. LEFT HANDED. PISTOL.  YOU. SHOOT. RIGHT. HANDED.   Not even a fighting chance?  A show of charity, of good faith? 

....I think you and I.  We feed off that.  The underestimation.  The underdog.  A pretty white girl who can't fight.  A quiet, seemingly timid, awkward sort of a fellow, who isn't swift and deadly.....We don't need your charity and we don't need your faith.  I am not wearing a dress and you....you say the pistol is just leveling the playing field......

 .....Just another day in the life of an unlikely military wife......**