I am in a funklet. Not a full-blown dreary funk, but about a half-funk, or a funklet. I like the word 'funklet' but it doesn't mean at all what it sounds like. It should be a little fun junket, like a trip to a cupcake store, fabulous junk store or museum, instead of a long crappy mood.
I don't even know why. Well, I sort of know why: part of it is this place. This is a crazy place. At first, it seems very foreign and weird. Some of it just the same as any stateside Air Force base- the sound of freedom blasting in your ears all the time, the brown and tan decorating scheme. Here are some stories from when we first got here about all the strange things I noticed.
But after a while, all the bizarre things both on and off base just seem normal: Fake casualties strewn on the streets, sniper battles in the parking garage, grocery store devoid of molasses and toddler toothpaste for months on end, counterfeit designer purses on every arm and all the latest movies for five bucks a pop. Check, check, check, check, check!
Now, many of my pals are leaving for
So many people leaving, along with our upcoming trip to Seattle (Target! Goodwill! Cupcakes!) makes me realize how freakishly abnormal this place truly is. Missiles, razor wire and faux bodies on a walk? Not normal. Crowds in the street pawing at your kids? Not normal. Breathing contaminated dust from China all spring? Not normal. Not knowing where you'll be come New Year's?
Okay, I'm done now. All of a sudden I have a hankering to go out on the deck and beat some crawfish to a pulp. Please send your best funklet cure to firstname.lastname@example.org, or share in the comments. I'm pretty sure some of my closest friends could use them too. After all, they have to live in the can with me.