I hate my job...but I do well at it.

So I am the devil. Well, no, not really the devil. BUT, according to some, I might as well be. I work at a telemarketing place. I needed the money and the hours are good.
Its funny being able to see a different perspective on the whole telemarketing issue. Sometimes I have to cold call people. Other times I have to call the clients of whichever company contracted us out. Most of the time we can offer something worth peoples time but just the fact that we called them can bring the worst out in people. For example I thought that people in the south were all nice. Well, they may be but on the phone they are so mean. I take it all in stride but some of my co-workers get really upset at how rude people can be. I couldn't care less. If I talk to a nice person, that's a good thing. A not so nice person, more power to you buddy. I don't call people at night or at dinner. Just during normal daylight hours.
Honestly though, I would hang up on myself too.
I hate telemarketers.

Lost in the Dust

Almost 5 years have passed since I came home. Never have been the same since. I'm sure a part of me is still over there somewhere. Forever lost in the dust. Even now, perhaps the rest of me is just as lost at home. I don't have any real regrets about Iraq. On the other hand, I do have regrets about home. I never thought it was fair for me to leave. Still so much to do. Sometimes I try to wish myself back over there. Then I remember what I lost because of my absence.

I know this will all sound vague. I'm not trying to make it sound that way. There are just too many details. My mind cannot compute all of them at once.

I remember Kuwait. I hated it. Not because it was hot and dry. Not because we had a stupid mission to perform there (well, I hated that part too). I hated it for different reasons. Home. It was too much like home. Huge indoor dinning hall with two projectors to watch movies and TV while we ate. Palm trees. Grass. Burger King. Baskin Robins. Pizza Inn. A shopping center. Cell phones. Internet cafe. PlayStation 2. A real movie theater. All of the comforts of home. It was all an illusion to me. I needed to get out of that place. Before I did something stupid.

Iraq saved me from that torture. It really did. We had a mission that made sense. At last, a purpose. The days were long. Distracting my thoughts from home. Thats all I really needed. A distraction. I felt that I was doing something worth while in Iraq. Everything began o make sense to me. I discovered my reason for being there. We were all told we were there because of WMDs and to free the Iraqi people. I was more in it for the people. It was nice to see the children walking to school in the mornings. Reminded me of my daughter. Not in a sense that it made me homesick, but it made me feel proud to be a father.

It wasn't uncommon to be attacked during our missions. I just took it all with a grain of salt. It happend. We respond. Continue the mission. I found out years later that it was very rare for us to have been fighting Iraqis. Turns out most of the insurgents were from Syria, Iran and Saudi Arabia. Either they thought war was a fun game to play or they really wanted to be a part of their jihad. Never really mattered to me. Training always kicks in regardless of an attackers motives.

Being in Iraq was so simple. So little to worry out compared to the real world. Eat, sleep and don't die. Thats it. Back home...you have EVERYTHING to worry about. I know it doesn't make sense. To me it does though. I even miss only have basicly three things to worry about. I truely was happy being in Iraq compared to being in the states. Just a different lifestyle.

Don't get me wrong, I love my country and my home. But when you have to put your life on hold and leave for a year, you cannot expect for the same things to be waiting on you when you come home. It doesn't work that way. People continue to live their lives while you are gone. They aren't the same when you see them again either. Of course they will say the same thing to you. About not being the same person. I've been told that my changes may be from PTSD. But if the people back home are different, what is their excuse? I don't know if I have PTSD or not. I guess maybe I do but I know I am not a poor off as some. They need the help and advice sooner than I do. I'll manage untill then. I've made it this far.

Coming home. Great news. Still makes me sad though. I felt bad for getting to come home while others took my place and stayed in the fight. I will never forget my time spent there and I hope I did enough to earn the right to be called a veteran.