Here’s Nick’s Address so you can send him all the love and support you can before your hand cramps.
PV2 Chandler Nick
1st Platoon RN 124
Fox Co. 2-54 IN
8775 Albanse
Ft. Benning, GA
31905
Thank you everyone for your support. =D
<3
I’m Gonna Wrap Myself In Paper, I’m Gonna Dab Myself With Glue, Stick Some Stamps On Top of My head, I’m Gonna Mail Myself To You…
…If I Get It All Down On Paper It’s No Longer Inside of Me, Threatening the Life It Belongs To…
Here they are. First Letters from Soldier Boy:
Dear All, (to include Mom, Frank, Emma, Britt, Nick, Weston, Declan and Heidi)
I am sacrificing a lot of personal hygiene to write this but I think that it is totally worth it. So when we got here it started off much like I expected. We were met off the bus by drill sergeants. Yelled at, briefed, and stripped of all personal liberties, the worst of which being sleep. I never knew how bad that could be. We just get herded around all day for what is called processing. Really just giving the Army our full lives in exchange for clothes that are generally uncomfortable and to my surprise tanny tighty briefies. (Heidi can translate). Shit is so crazy. Sorry if my letters are unorganized. I seriously can’t think straight. We slept an interrupted 4 hours of sleep in Army bunks straight out of a Vietnam war movie. I am top bunk 
I like it. Bird’s eye view and a six-foot drop. This place is nothing like I would have expected. It’s so hard and it’s only the reception part. Guys I came with that seemed so pumped are looking very hard for ways out. I kid you not we had someone go AWOL last night. (Tried to run away)…like ran.
I know I can make it but I tear up whenever I think of your guys. Especially Heidi. I miss Heidi more than I thought
I could. She is in my thoughts so often I can’t even describe it. Britt I think about whenever I see people doing interesting social things. Nick I think about whenever I see guys doing PT, which we have done zero of today or any of the other days I have been here. I am pretty sure it’s Friday, but I honestly don’t know. Oh, and tell Britt I had
zero cavities. So I win. 
This is the first night I have had any free time since we got here. Today they gave us what is called the Peanut Butter Shot. It’s a shot in the butt that feels like they implant 10 oz of peanut butter in your cheek! We are all rubbing our butts. Hold on…I’m gonna go brush teeth and wash my bald head. Then I’ll start a new page.
Omg…I came back and guys are sharing poetry. This place is so crazy (just the way it swings from tough to so funny to so emotional). The chow isn’t too bad. We go in there and it is the most strict ‘no talk don’t look around’ area.
Guys who recognize each other give just the faintest glances. I often dare to smile at Joe’s big ass when I see him. Just cause he looks like he hates it. We pile on whatever we want and then they put two cups on our plates. Clear drank and red drank. They say red drank keeps us from becoming erection the morning. Just to save the embarrassment. But I think it just might be powerade. (Seriously thought it was the first word ever said to me in the chow hall). “Hey man…pst!” Me all wide-eyed. “Hey, man. Drink that stuff it’s good for not thinking dirty thoughts!” (I cleaned that up a lot.) I am going lights out in 5 minutes so I love you guys. Think of me. You can’t write me yet though. Not ’til I’m “down range”. Two weeks at most. Oh, and I have a good for next letter.
Love, PVT Chandler, your son, brother or Boyfriend. ***
Dear all, started probably at 6 a.m…
Today has been the easiest day yet. We woke up and hour later than usual which was 4 a.m. Everyone was up and on time and we got together and marched to chow. Oh, and last night I did my first fire watch. They woke me up at 1:00 a.m. to guard a door where we sleep. It was kinda crappy but I still got to sleep real well. All the extra sleep seems to help with everyone’s attitudes. I base this on the guys are lying up a storm about how tough they are and running around the bay…
Picked back up at about 8:30. This place seems to like to relax us and almost make us feel like we can handle this, make us feel good, confident, like we have a purpose here…and then immediately strips it away from us. I fucking hate this so far. I am still optimistic that things will be more fun once we get “down range”.
Today we were told we would get our cellphones for 10 mins. to make phone calls. I prayed so hard for me to be able to call one phone and talk to multiple people. I worked to my amazement. I guess I should feel guilty for not going to church now cause my prayers were answered. I called Heidi’s phone and she was with Britt and Nick. It was so emotional for me. It was my third time crying here, always cause an experience like this teaches you how much you value your loved ones. I don’t think I will be able to do more than my three years. Everyone at home seems well from what I hear and that makes me happy. I have made close friends so far. After crying on the phone I met Cross. Cross is my age but looks about 12 years old in stature. He is small! We talked about who we called. He called his wife. I told him I called my future wife and talked to my sister who I am extremely close with. My other closest friend is Scott. Scott is quite the character. He just doesn’t look like he belongs and he freaked out on day one and was trying to find a way out. Which to my surprise is impossible. There is no quitting. Trust me, half the guys would quit given the opportunity. Scott told mr the reason he didn’t want to be most of all was because he missed
his girlfriend. It’s a fairly young relationship but he (wow, all the guys just admitted to getting choked up writing letters. Picked back up Sunday morning…8 a.m.
To go along with all the swings in my emotions today is just awesome. I hope all Sundays are like this. First off, it was daylight savings so most of us got an extra hour of sleep. I actually didn’t cause I volunteered for an extra fire watch shift. They always ask me, probably cause I wake up so easily. It’s weird how you can adapt to strange things like guys you don’t know coming up to your face, asking, “Are you Chandler?”
We learned how to make a bunk yesterday so now some guys are getting more shit from drill sergeants. Honestly, I have not been yelled at or corrected by a drill sergeant yet.
I woke up today and Scott told me something I found to be a milestone for us both. He said today was the first day
he woke up and didn’t feel like that “Where am I” feel. And he is right. Much like we predicted, we feel better now that we have some amount of routine.
Me and Scott are getting to be good buds. Everywhere we go on base we are supposed to have a “battle buddy”. Nobody does anything alone. Including taking a poop, which there has been a limited amount of: two reasons, actually. One, there is an extremely limited amount of toilet paper, and two, we all think there is something in the food.
Scott makes fun of me for writing so much about what I’m doing, but i like the idea that when you guys imagine what I’m doing, you’ll be here with me. Plus, it just makes me feel human to write about this, put into perspective.
Although so far it’s far from story worthy.
I got my full uniform, all except my boots. My group looks retarded cause we wear “ACUs” (Uniforms) with running shoes. Most of the time we wear ACUs now but occasionally and always when we sleep we wear the “PT Uniform”, shorts and a T-shirt. Oh, and no matter where we go or what we are doing, we wear a camel pack. A bag always
full of water. It is the closest thing to PT we get. Standing for hours ar a time and carrying those.
I am Nick’s restless girlfriend.
There isn’t much I can say at this point, because I won’t speak for Nick, but I am here to announce that shortly, there will be letters.
I am Nick’s screaming, aching legs.
I am Nick’s cold sweat.
I am Nick’s sense of pride and accomplishment.
Come here if you want to know how he’s doing. What he’s doing. When he’s coming home, and what he’s thinking when thinking is all he can do that is his own.
=]
why I don’t post more: by giggles the druglord.
remember always.
this is not a blog.
it is a writing outlet for me that I use a blog site to post on.
I don’t write more because I don’t have to write.
see writing for me is like a bowel movement (stolen from a Chuck Palahniuk metaphor).
I write when I have something to write. shit or get off the pot. If I don’t have to write, its like I don’t have to poop.
sometimes I get faked out and sit down and let go a giant fart, but I don’t flush, and you don’t see it.
like a good poop, I always look back a few times to admire my work. and like a potty training kid, I am oh so proud of what I have produced.
I appreciate those of you who still come and look, and I encourage you to go back and look at old work, comment, criticize, it inspires me.
thank you,
Giggles the drug lord
favorite love poem creation
I’m madly intertwined in your intentions
as you are with mine
and I think, with a touch of whim,
they call this love…
my favorite Beat poem creation.
by and by, we’re contact high
ridding the wave of the
collective cry.
everything melds but nothing touches.
Nothing separate but intentions
clutches.
Let your brain be the reducing factor,
perception is free and your the
actor.
No solo judgments tonight,
the struggle is over,
its a collective fight.
a mindless poem. like a beat-poet would only like. cause its a mindless day.
My face itches like the wick of a candle
Purposeless I float,
looming like a fear of glimpsing art.
I, a sphere of understanding, no longer desire truth. But love.
No longer in need to be a sphere
I’ll be a pumpkin.
Free to be, now I know
Purposely
That I’ll be me.
It’s mindless.
stream of consciousness
Sometimes the right thought just finds its way into internal dialogue, an intruding truth,
about yourself or to your understanding.
Flashes of enlightenment one would only expect to find through study or meditation.
I was putting on my shirt—feeling out its fit. Looking for pants and my internal monologue just flowing right along. Imagined conversations or replayed memories. And “I think I’m peaking.”
I might have been thinking about the nature of my age. Feeling what I have felt lately about years gone creeping by and by.
I never let those thoughts go. Those intruding thoughts, I treat each one like a new born child.
I cradle them in wispy thought. It makes me chuckle from deep in side my ribs and leaves me with that feeling of muscle fatigue and deep sleep. It’s restful.
Sneaking thoughts are my equanimity. They are as close to spirituality as I might acknowledge.
to me, to you, to be with you.
Oh How I wish, just one more kiss…
To stay forever,
to be more clever…
To find new words,
to fly with birds…
To know we flew,
To be with you, forever.
Hello, Soup! newly edited. not perfected
“Wow, that looks good.” the old man said to her plate of chocolate chip pancakes, leaning over the gap between booths.
“That looks real edible!”
Wink.
“I know, right?” I replied, widening my eyes at her plate and smiling back.
To which I was offered a bite.
I wanted nothing to do with that whip cream covered pile of stomachache. I just wanted to agree.
We went back to talking. Sipping coffee.
She looks so cute when she listens to me talk. While she eats chocolate chip pancakes.
“Hello, soup!”
Dead in my tracks, I looked over at the old man. The old man who greets his soup.
Chicken soup. And he looks thrilled.
I looked back at her. Then back to the old man.
Back to my coffee and our conversation.
“Hey, Pete! Everything is under control here, Pete!” he is yelling across the restaurant to no one I can see.
Back to stir fried vegetable. Back to chocolate chip pancakes. Back to coffee and conversation.
“Here! Look at that! Tell me the date on the back of that.” He hands his waitress a lightly browned picture.
“Fifty-five” she tells him.
“June second, 1955! Yours truly! Can you believe it?!” wide eyed and staring openly at her. “Been married forty-seven years!”
Now he is laying out more pictures across the table facing the aisle.
I take no care in making it subtle that I’m watching.
“God’s speed, I wish him god’s speed, that president Obama!” He is talking to no one in particular, but I’m listening. Its impossible not to.
“Eight glorious years ahead of us, yes sir. Eight years behind us, mmhm.”
I raise my coffee cup and smile to him.
His smile widens and his chest fills out.
“Anyone who voted Republican in this year’s election they should be examined in the head, I tell ya.” Tapping a thick finger against thin grey hair, looking over at me.
Smile. Wink.
“I hear ya.” I tell him.
I have abandoned my vegetables at this point.
“It’s the lack of jobs that’s scary, I tells ya. How is people supposed to pay their mortgage, their utility?”
I nod.
“Hey leave them to their food.” The hostess shouts over to him from my right with a smile as she counts out something I can’t see.
Apparently he is a serial offender, wanted for disturbing the peace in small town coffee shops around the nation.
“Hey! Come on now!” He protested. “Me and my friend here, we’re just talking. We voted for the same man, see?!”
Smile. Wink.
I raise my coffee mug and look at her in accordance with my friend.
“We’re comparing notes here is all.” He explains. “You got to do that, you know?”
“I agree, my friend.”
I think I see a smile from the woman behind him.
Smile. Wink.
“Talking is a dying art.” I tell him.
“Oh, absolutely.” He agrees.
For a moment he is back to his soup. I am back to my stir fry.
I get up to go to the bathroom.
When I get back he is showing her his Catholic Charity detonators card. “Worth its wait in gold, it is!”
“I’m sure it is.” I tell him with a smile.
Smile. Wink.
“And this is a Christian nation! And I don’t care what any old SOB tells you different. And if they do.” Pause. Serious look. “You have my permission to pop them right in the nose. Man or woman!”
I think I have lost my balance here. I can’t help but start giggling a little.
Our check comes.
He is starting to look a lot more serious.
“And 30,000 illegal’s in this country. That’s the dam problem.”
He looks behind himself. Ready to rally more support.
I smile at him.
She is looking at our check and I say it’s probably time to go.
We stand up and I thank him for the talking.
“Enjoy your meal, sir.” And I nod at him one last time.
We pay our check and leave.
Its cold and snowy outside, but the flakes are soft and dance around in the parking lot lights.
We get in the car and start to drive away. I keep thinking about the evolution of our conversation with the old man.
She grabs my hand and says to me “even if he was a little crazy, wanting to punch non-Christians in the nose and what not, it was still fun.”
“Oh, for sure!” I say.
“I hope you’re like that as an old man.” She says. “Sitting in coffee shops telling people how long you have been married.” She smiles big and hopeful at me.
and I say, “I just hope I remember to greet my soup!”
