All this fucking yelling...
I am trying to use the computer in the community room. Where a group of college age guys are watching football. And yelling. And screaming. And refering to women as "bitches". So I glare. They look at me. Realize that perhaps, the thing in the USMC shirt and running pants, is infact female. Heads are hung, eyes do not meet. I rate a puny "sorry, girl, you know how it is."
No. I don't fucking know how it is.
Never. Has someone, who respects me. Ever. fucking. called me. Bitch.
And they never will.
And I layed in my bed, after Crash left, wishing like hell that he or Jealousy were there, so I could have someone to steal body heat from, and maybe not feel quite so alone. In a barracks of 600+ people.
And I told the woman at PSD, that my family will always be more important to me, then money.
You all are.
I would give all $120,000.00 dollars back.
To have my Parents back.
People here say they would love to have money, easy money like that.
Would you be willing to have blood money like that...shipmate? To have come home when you were 14 fucking years old, on the fucking day where you think you're going to pick up your work permit, and you come home, to see your Mothers dead body laying still on her bed, and knowing that she is never. coming. back. But wait...you get $30,000.00. You want to get money that way shipmate?
How about coming out of the galley during bootcamp. To have your Chief, who has told you that you are a perfect recruit, that you have to go talk to the chaplin. But she won't tell you why.
Until this Chaplin, tells you that your father, that you haven't seen in five months is dead. But wait... you get $80,000.00. You want to get money that way shipmate?
You tell me I am so fucking lucky, that I will never have to ever worry about what my parents say, that I don't have to answer to them.
Thats right. I don't answer to them. I talk to them every fucking day. Because every fucking day I want to put my fist in your stupid disrespectful face and scream at you, that you are so lucky to have someone back home, who might care about you enough, that they hassle you about things. Still try to raise you.
Fuck all of you here. Who think that your parents don't matter, because you don't see them.
I kiss my Mom and Dad good night. Wondering how many more years it will be until I see them again. And how many more fucking years it will be until this won't hurt anymore.
Until I don't have to see that catching, appologetic look, that you have because you realize, that those childish jibes you can make, about my parents...aren't so fucking funny...when they're gone and the Doc standing in front of you has twice the strength you will ever tell yourself you have.
No. I don't fucking know how it is.
Never. Has someone, who respects me. Ever. fucking. called me. Bitch.
And they never will.
And I layed in my bed, after Crash left, wishing like hell that he or Jealousy were there, so I could have someone to steal body heat from, and maybe not feel quite so alone. In a barracks of 600+ people.
And I told the woman at PSD, that my family will always be more important to me, then money.
You all are.
I would give all $120,000.00 dollars back.
To have my Parents back.
People here say they would love to have money, easy money like that.
Would you be willing to have blood money like that...shipmate? To have come home when you were 14 fucking years old, on the fucking day where you think you're going to pick up your work permit, and you come home, to see your Mothers dead body laying still on her bed, and knowing that she is never. coming. back. But wait...you get $30,000.00. You want to get money that way shipmate?
How about coming out of the galley during bootcamp. To have your Chief, who has told you that you are a perfect recruit, that you have to go talk to the chaplin. But she won't tell you why.
Until this Chaplin, tells you that your father, that you haven't seen in five months is dead. But wait... you get $80,000.00. You want to get money that way shipmate?
You tell me I am so fucking lucky, that I will never have to ever worry about what my parents say, that I don't have to answer to them.
Thats right. I don't answer to them. I talk to them every fucking day. Because every fucking day I want to put my fist in your stupid disrespectful face and scream at you, that you are so lucky to have someone back home, who might care about you enough, that they hassle you about things. Still try to raise you.
Fuck all of you here. Who think that your parents don't matter, because you don't see them.
I kiss my Mom and Dad good night. Wondering how many more years it will be until I see them again. And how many more fucking years it will be until this won't hurt anymore.
Until I don't have to see that catching, appologetic look, that you have because you realize, that those childish jibes you can make, about my parents...aren't so fucking funny...when they're gone and the Doc standing in front of you has twice the strength you will ever tell yourself you have.