(no subject)

Someone asked me why I don't post to my journal more often, and why my entries seem to be so superficial.

The simple answer is that I really have nothing deep to say. My life is in a happy rut at this point. And I'm trying to get back to writing, so I'm saving those good creative juices for the pay copy.

(no subject)

I've finally figured out what it is about Moxy Fruvous' _The Drinking Song_ that affects me so deeply. It could be about me and my old spotter, Gordon.

We were closer than brothers, as is important in sniper teams. We came from wildly different backgrounds, but the friendship that grew between us was amazing. We rarely had to speak to each other; it was that instinctive.

Of course it helped that he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a hand grenade, so I got do all the shooting. Nice division of labor. We partied together, got drunk together, and endured hangovers together. Badly. We'd each cover for the other if the duty roster interfered with one of our plans.

Gordon died about ten years ago. He had just come home from the Gulf War when a drunk driver in his home town ran him down. He'd have enjoyed the irony, I think.

While I'm not sure about things like the afterlife, I like to think that somewhere he's waiting for me, same grin on his face, and waiting to tell me that Heaven is a target-rich environment.