Holy crap, it's July. As I get older, time seems to make less and less sense. For example, I can't believe it's July already, but I feel like I've been living in Fayetteville a lot longer than 3 months. I don't get it.
I've been smoke-free now for 3 whole weeks (yay me!), and some days I wonder how. Believe me, I've had more than a couple of situations in the past 3 weeks that definitely called for a foot-long cigarette. I haven't mentioned a whole lot of them because, believe it or not, I really don't like to complain. My job has been a big stressor, and every now and again there is a situation at home, but I'm most proud of myself for not smoking when I drink. Now, I don't drink NEARLY as much as I used to, but drinking and smoking have just always gone together for me. Like peanut butter and jelly. I put myself to the test a week ago today.
Last Friday night, Mr. M and I went to Lucky's, a little Irish bar right down the road from the apartment. It's a pretty regular Friday night spot for us and a bunch of the guys he works with. It's not super-close to post, so I don't understand the mass appeal, but I love the convenience. And it's NEVER super-crowded, which is always a plus for me. I tend to get uneasy in big crowds. Anyway, there were a lot of us hanging out last week- more than usual- and we were all having a really great time. And I didn't so much as take a drag off of a bummed cigarette. Mr. M and I left probably around 11:30pm, because I had to be at work the next morning at 8:30am.
Turned out to be a blessing in disguise that I had to be at work early. Two of our friends that we had been hanging out with that night got shot in the parking lot of the bar at closing time. From my understanding, there was some macho pushing and shoving and shit-talking....and people got shot. One of them was a very good friend of Mr. M, a really sweet guy with a pregnant wife. Luckily, he only got shot in the leg, through and through, and he was sent home pretty quickly. The other guy was someone I had just met that night, and we shared pitchers of beer for a while. He seemed like a typical alpha-dog douchebag, but he still didn't deserve to get shot. He got hit in the stomach, and the bullet nicked his intestines, colon, and pancreas, and exited out his lower back. He is still in the hospital, but expected to recover.
Now, you may be wondering why I'm posting this when I intended this blog to be about my experiences as a military wife. I have a few reasons- 1) I lived in Baltimore for 8 years, and never knew anyone who had gotten shot - 2) These boys are friends of Mr. M- and 3) THESE BOYS ARE SOLDIERS. These boys fought for your fucking right to bear arms, and you choose to use that right against them??? Are you fucking kidding me??? They survive getting shot at every day for a year in hostile territory, just to come home to the same thing??? Excuse all the language, but I am disgusted. I don't even know what else to say- just wanted to share all that.
And I still haven't touched a cigarette =)