Many of my friends in the service have moved on, to become civilians, and they work all around the world and in a number of career fields-sales, academia, police and fire departments, teachers, just about anything you can think of. These military folks will be friends for life. And they often send me notes that say they can barely relate to some of the things in Iraq, and that a lot of people that have never been in the service really have no clue about what is going on in Iraq.

Do you know a soldier or Marine? If not, you should get to know one. Not with all their friends, where they have to act the part, but alone, and away from all the machoism. What are they like? Well, if you know a guy or gal that is 18-21, that's pretty much what a soldier is like. Most young soldiers and Marines aren't any different than your average college student, except they wear a uniform and shoot weapons. Next time you see someone in the military, buy them a beer, for me, because they don't get paid enough in this war.

I realized even my family and friends with no military background don't know a lot about what I do, let alone today's new age, vey chique, girls with drink (or without).

I can only write about what I see and feel and hear about, from one guy's perspectives, without getting shut down by the Army for "blog violations". I hope I'm not being melodramatic or trying to make it sound worse than it is--for the most part, camp life is boring, and it sucks sometimes, but it isn't like we're huddled down in foxholes every day waiting for the horde to come over the fence. We aren't constantly stressed, or on a wire edge, or even scared a lot (at least I don't think so, I'm not scared much at all, though some are more scared than others).

I write about the times and the feelings that have some emotion behind them. These times aren't even a majority of the time here, they are the minority. Or I would be forced to write, instead, "I was quite bored today, really, bored stiff, I almost fell over from sheer boredom, and going to the bathroom with the power out, well, that was the most exciting thing that happened today."

I am now a "combat veteran", which is weird to write, because I don't feel like one. Again, not to sound like these are every day events, but I can write about random acts of violence that have wiped people off of the face of the earth. I can write about struggling, at times, with depression and fear, alone at night, in my bed, wondering if I would be adequate to face the challenges that lie ahead-the unknown-to be strong, when the time comes, to look death in the face and soldier on (I could also write about feeling strong and invincible, like nothing will ever happen to me).

Or wanting to get those around me to stay strong, and do the same, because if I feel this way after all this training, then how do they feel, and because we are all counting on each other to survive.

When I was younger and growing up, tales of war and being a soldier were grand, and fun, and soldiers coming back from war were heroes.

Even the 1st explosions and shots fired were all so "cool." I'd been shot at before I came to Iraq. I'd had weapons pointed at me, been close to explosions that were directed at me.

The reality of war doesn't hit home until you see the dead people. Ghastly shattered bodies that have been destroyed by weapons we have made to do one thing--kill people. Sobering black body bags filled with people caught up in the violence-American military, insurgents, civilians. Blood that fills the room, that must be mopped up, that might leave stains laying around.

I wonder, just every once and awhile, and not often-just once and awhile, if I will make it out of Iraq alive. It is better to confront the thought-I am not afraid to die, right now. Maybe tomorrow will be different, but today I was not afraid. Today, when I hurtled down the highway, once again, on the wrong side of the road at oncoming traffic, I was not afraid, but actually, felt dialed-in and completely free from fear, and never felt more alive. I welcomed any attack, today. Today was my A-game.

Confrontations with mortality. And with fear--fear that, sometimes, when it rears its ugly head (like when I get shot at! ESPECIALLY while getting shot at), these very intense feelings of fear threaten to completely overwhelm all of my senses, if I let it, if I allow it, to dominate me, to overwhelm me, to drive every other thought out of my head, except the one screeching at me to burrow underneath any ounce of something I could find, to scratch a little hole in the sand of this shit hole desert, to abandon my comrades, to abandon myself, to just hide, be afraid, cower, quiver, fear that tells me to run screaming away from the violence, like a mad man, because it is completely against human nature to face the threat of such a violent death.

And the confrontations with the anger, if I can even control it, the anger that builds, it seethes, it rages inside of my head, it will not be controlled is another one of my fears, it will explode, it will consume me along with the fear, on in spite of the fear, they are both vying for my attention sometimes, and sometimes, the anger will become a thing unto itself, without even the fear to temper it or lessen it, because the anger seems to always be there now, much more than the fear, it is a force uncontrolled, a red wave of pure hatred, it can dominate as much as the fear, it makes me want to kill, and to destroy, and to send scorching death and destruction upon those that have killed my friends.

Managed fear, managed anger, and managed violence-that is what being at "war" is all about. Except for most, this war is short on action and long on exhausting periods of boredom-filled with stress, anxiety, nothing, cards, talks, walking around, typing, reading, playing, working, sleeping, and then the brief, intense, also exhausting moments of complete hyper-activity-with death all around you.

And the random violence builds up each day in the area all around us. It doesn't matter if we are a part of the violent activities that day-we hear it all on the military radio networks. The strained voices coming across the net. The scratchy, anguished voice on the other end--"Please help me. My friends are dead, right beside me, and I might be next. I don't want to die, not here, not now, not like this, not in this hell hole, not without seeing my family again. The bad people are here, they are all around me, and I need some help to make it out of this one alive."

Those are not the actual words he is saying, oh no, he is doing just a grand job staying cool and calm on the radio, there is a hint of fear and surprise in his voice, he is very militaristic, his training is taking over, but that is really what he means in his call for help in very precise militaristic terms. I know that is what he is thinking, because that is what I was thinking when I was in his place.

These are some of my personal thoughts and experiences as a US Soldier; I don't speak for all Soldiers or US Marines, but I bet that many have similar tales and thoughts.