Kuwait thru to FOB ___, 1

18ARP2009
　
I haven’t written a note in a long while.
Hmmm.
__________
　
19APR2009
　
Yesterday, K____ bought a leather-bound journal from an Arab hustler, and had been asking me how to write.
I told him I’d explain it to him somehow. I ended up telling the whole story, notes and all, that night, as we sat outside the USO in a big open desert space with one picnic table. We talked a long time, then ate midnight chow, then talked some more, until two in the morning. Meanwhile wake up was at 0430 ..
I told the story wrong. Didn’t tell it in the context of my having faced/handled Difficulty.
I didn’t tell in proudly. I had the gall to allow the ignorant opinions I knew he’d probably have, to even be a good listener to them, in order not to lose the friendship.
I did this because in the past my refusal of that ignorance was taken by the friend as an unforgivable offense.
Instead, I told the story in a way that said:
Difficulty happened to me, and the story seems unfinished.
(Surprisingly to me, the story did speak for itself, on its own. K____ seemed to register that a story like that cannot have been lived by the ghost-version of me he deals with mostly.)
I still didn’t tell the whole story, leaving the most painful parts out: The humiliating stuff .. I told the story wrong, and left out the most painful parts, because of my assumption that people don’t understand at first, and their ignorance must be given its due; because people don’t understand that Difficult is Honorable, no matter what Difficult is.
Whether it is my Difficult story or K____’s difficult classes. I left out the humiliating parts because none of it was Real. It was all story. It was meaningless. (But the hurt, B, that was felt) ..
Each incident of hurt was such BS. It still hurt like hell, they still made me hurt, in the moment, they took my smile from me, my enjoyment of that moment -- them taking from me.
They taught me how to not feel, in the moment, because I needed my wits about me, I needed to get through it.
Them taking from me -- it makes me so angry -- it’s so strong -- I still like to leave the anger unfelt .. Anger is what takes the moment back. It is what takes the initiative back to the main character, making me the main character again .. If I could assert my anger into the physical world, -- a rising of the chest, a straightening of the neck (which oddly is the same way the Toughness expresses) -- instead of my subconscious, I wouldn’t need story.
If I could assert my emotions in the moment -- a hurt felt, a laugh enjoyed -- I wouldn’t need story.
If I could just hold on and assert my actions into the physical world -- honor my true self, my Real self enough -- instead of my actions being decided by others, by them having me react to them -- I could be happy in the moment.
I thought the world had rules, that there was a such thing as Morality and Immorality, simply because there was such a thing as man-made punishment. Really, the world is rule-less, divided up between those who are Real and not Real.