August 5th

I’m back at the PIT again. It’s been a while since I have had the time to sit down and write. When things get ‘hot’ on a mission I rarely have time to for anything other than trying to survive.

Psych-Out asked me about the journal during our session today. Before you go thinking I’m in therapy, all Joes have to visit him once a month as well as after every mission for evaluation. The military takes mental health very seriously, especially on our small team. It’s a very stressful job.

Anyhow…I told him I hadn’t had time lately to add anything to it. From the look on his face I figured that was the answer he was getting from pretty much everyone. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…soldiers aren’t ones to get in touch with their feelings.

Then again here I am, sitting under my reading light, scribbling madly.

Who knew?

So…today I went into town to go shopping with Courtney, or Cover Girl as she is known among the Joes. I enjoy her company, and she is probably one of the few people who can keep up with me once I hit the stores. She and I have very similar tastes…hers developed during her years as a model, mine through my mother who always wore the finest that money could buy.

I admit it, when it comes to this type of thing, I am every bit my mother’s daughter. Don’t give me Old Navy when I could be wearing Ralph Lauren. A dress from Banana Republic will never do when Versace is within reach.

Meanwhile, what do I end up wearing 98% of the time? My combat uniform, army sweats, jeans and a sweater. No Cole Hahn mules for me…combat boots are the order of the day.

Oh how the mighty have fallen!

Ah well…I made my choice.

Courtney and I ended up having a great time as usual. I find it so amusing that my file states in so many words that I have trouble getting along with other women. Ha! I went to Bryn Mawr! You won’t survive there more than two seconds if you don’t get along with girls.

Admittedly, I have always felt more comfortable around men. It’s just easier to be with them, there isn’t the constant need to one up one another.

No. That’s not fair. It isn’t always like that, but I do think every woman, whether she realizes or not, is constantly comparing herself to others of her sex…vying with each other for a place at the top. Who is prettiest, smartest…most desirable to the eligible males. It’s almost like something straight out of a Nature documentary.

In the Hart social circles, you barely have to scratch the surface to find the bitter rivalries that float underneath. Survival of the bitchiest, my father used to joke…

More likely, though, the mark on my file came from my first year in the army. I was so completely unprepared for the reality of boot camp that it caught me with my guard down. The woman in my ‘unit’ saw me as the weakest link and went in for the kill.

Lets just say I do not react well when cornered.

I’m off on a tangent again…what was I talking about? Oh yes…Courtney and shopping.

We didn’t end up buying much, which was unusual. We did however both see the most beautiful black evening gowns at Chanel. The two of us laughed over coffee after we left the store empty handed.

We have both been covered in mud up to our eyeballs, trekked through mosquito infested bogs, been stained with blood and beaten black and blue…we are warriors. And yet both of us eyed those dresses like we were Cinderellas going to a ball at the palace.

“You can stick us in cammies and combat boots, put a M16 in our hands and point us towards a rabid enemy, but you can’t take the girly-ness out of us!” Cover Girl had said. Coming from the biggest tomboy I had ever met, that was quite a revelation.

Come to think of it…has Flint ever seen me in a dress? Would he even notice if I fixed myself up one evening?

He’s off on a mission somewhere for an undisclosed amount of time…something called ‘eco-warriors’. Left without so much as a kiss. Not that he could have done anything as he was called off so suddenly that we barely had time to say goodbye.

That’s the army for you. It’s to be expected. Perfectly normal.

Perfectly normal.

Normal.

Why is it no matter how many times I repeat it to myself I still can’t convince myself that it is true…

What is happening here?

You know the answer to that question, Alison…you know perfectly well what is going on.

Oh good…saved by the bell! That must be Red with the Pizza. She better not have put olives on it this time…

______________________________________________________

On toNext Entry!
Back to The Bard's Fics!
Back to Authors Page!