So, it’s been quite the while since I sat down and wrote, even with the new swanky I-Mac the beloved got me for xmas (I’m never sure how to spell I-products…is there a – or a , …. technologically speaking, I am aware, i am not a deserved owner of said, swanky I- Mac (?). However, the dreaded summer training is upon us. I know what you’re thinking, it’s not summer, and I’d have to fecking agree with you there, when I say “summer deployment” what i really mean is “supposed summer” because lo and behold, two days back at work (all in all the HB had been home for about two weeks out of the year at this point) and a 10 week stint in Canada, leaving the end of April has turned into a 18 week haul, starting the beginning of April. There is not a powerful enough swear word (no, not even the C- one) to describe just how annoying and disappointing this news was.
It feels, more often that not lately, that any work related news delivered by the HB (and yes, it is terribly tempting to want to shoot, hang, draw, quarter and set the messenger on fire) is bad news. It feels of late that all the army brings is trouble, strife and marital stress. Truthfully, despite the anger I know it isn’t quite the case, we have many, lovely benefits to being a part of the army sphere but honestly, i’m not sure the good outweighs the bad anymore; yes we’ve loved being in/ exploring Germany, yes we’ve been very lucky in getting cheaper, great, housing and extra LOA, but the move back to the UK is fast approaching. Hello FAM, goodbye 800 pounds a month. The army seems to not understand why so many people are signing off in droves – ask the wives, they’ll tell you. The sacrifices families make, the time apart they spend, the way SP are treated like numbers, not the centres of somebody’s world, the lack of planning and last minute changes, being granted the intelligence, and ability to handle information, of a banana… well they’re all contributing factors I’d say, wouldn’t you?
And so, wee rant over, ground zero, day one… the longest time we’ve spent apart it is. Today? Well day one is normally pretty tough for me, moping is normally the course of the day, served with a side-helping of wallowing and a foam of self-pity (sounds attractive right, where are you spiky, inner- independent feminist when I need you, how my 18 year old, liberal self would mock my sallow dependent self). Well kids, not today. So far (its 12) I’ve sorted through some personal admin I’ve been avoiding for a good 3, 798 days, been for a bike ride with the ankle-grazers, sorted what’s for dinner and perused the education centre’s prospectus and done some yoga (its the Easter hols, no work to hold my days together). Maybe at last I’ve learnt to take each day as it comes, to be a better military wife and stay calm in the face of adversity?
No doubt by tomorrow I’ll have reverted to the Pollyanna/ machete wielding axe murderer, bipolar-like mood changes that tend to occupy love long distance. Until then…