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[olemars]

The traditional one would be pea soup. Some places pancakes are served with potatoes and pasta.

The sane parts of the country put jam and/or bacon on them though.

[Kagus]

Gotta love how you either put jam or bacon on something...  Like with the rice pudding (also entirely too traditional for its own good), which you eat with butter and either sugar or smoked ham.  I'm not sure if that's supposed to indicate a very dynamic meal, or the fact that Norwegians will eat meat with just about anything.

Never had pea soup with pancakes though, all the times I've encountered the combo it's been tomato soup, sometimes with little pasta bits in it (if we're lucky!).

[Kagus]

Right, so, yeah.

Monday morning we loaded our loads onto the longboats buses and without further alliteration were ferried off to what we had been promised would be "a lovely little pleasure trip in the countryside".  Translated from military code, this leaves us with the message "long and depressing forced march over a goddamn mountain".

Since we would be carrying on with this lunacy for the worser part of three days, we would obviously need to pack some things.  Since we would need to pack some things, we would of course need to use the delightful solid-frame backpacks we have that weren't particularly good designs sixty years ago and haven't been getting any better.  And since soldiers of course cannot be trusted to pack anything themselves, we were given packing lists for what needed to be in those backpacks.

This listed included, amongst other things, our heavy winter mittens, our heavy winter sweaters, our heavy winter hats, our extra-warmth netting underwear, wool socks, our safety and security handbook (not for field purposes), our cooking sets (for every individual, instead of the 1-2 each team would actually require), and of course a clean pair of boxers.

...

...during the middle of what qualifies for summer around here.  It's blazingly hot when it's not raining, and it wasn't raining when we went out there...  The fact that we would be walking for several hours every day with 20 kilos of useless winter gear on our backs (no point in having it, but if you don't pack it you're held for denial of a direct order) wouldn't exactly make us any chillier.


The basic plan was thus:  you march over the simultaneously overgrown, marshy, rocky and steep terrain in single file for 50 minutes, then stop for 10 minutes to take your boots off, fill your water supply, plaster tape to your feet to prevent blisters and maybe eat a snack, and then you repeat.

The first day, we managed to come in ahead of schedule thanks to an exceptionally high tempo.  Only had to roll this process for four hours before we got to the decided-upon campsite.  Everyone was fairly destroyed by this time, of course...  So while it took a bit of concentration to get the tents set up, we were all very happy to finally have a chance to sit down and not think about walking.

The captain brought up the prospect of climbing one of the nearby-ish peaks to see the view.  Not many people seemed interested in the idea.


After a night of sleeping on what the dirt probably thought was an amusing roller coaster ride (but in reality was just an incredibly uncomfortable place to put your sleeping bag), we set off for another delightful, pleasant, fantabulous day of light summer walks through the gorgeous countryside.

Roughly three to four hours of blood and sweat later, my half-sprained ankle leads to my stepping on a rebellious young rock who apparently had a bone to pick with my right knee.  I experience some of the most mind-shattering pain I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing in my life.  In an attempt to keep pace, I tear the plastic thread-thingy from the cap of a water bottle I brought along and begin gnawing on it like mad while whimpering softly at each footfall.

We stop, eat lunch, and are encouraged forward once again.  The extreme pain and loss of flexibility make moving difficult, and so the officers decree that some of my load must be carried by the other team members.


Long story short, we walk for five more excruciating, horrifying, agonizing hours along the uneven slopes and valleys of the passage we've picked before reaching the final campsite.  I'm hobbling along like a cripple, which I effectively am at this point.  I've managed to keep something resembling a pace thanks to my team carrying most or, at times, all of my remaining pack weight.

Having lost track of the tiny plastic strip, I picked up a passably-sized stick and shoved it into my mouth.  That stick was my best friend for several hours, until it finally snapped from the pressure of my teeth as I took out my pain and frustration on it.  One of my squadmates, charmed by the concept, took it upon himself to find me a thicker one.  While his efforts were peculiarly thoughtful and indeed rather appreciated, he managed to pick one that tasted like vibrant ass and was thus used with slightly less regularity...


You know, in all my life, I cannot remember a single time when I have actually screamed in pain, until this march.  On the last day I was ordered to get up an hour and a half earlier to start along the remaining route with a spare officer, due to my slower speed.  It took time, but I finally made it to the pick-up point.

I had just walked for over six miles (as the pig flies) of steep, slippery, rock-littered terrain with one leg that would cause me to buckle if it bent too sharply at the knee.


When the rest of the company arrived later on, spirits were markedly higher as people set about performing last-minute maintenance before the buses arrived to take us back to base.  It seems to the most "pleasurable" part of these so-called pleasure trips is the feeling of relief when we're finally finished with them.  The big green truck arrived to take our backpacks, and we could see the buses closing in on us from up the road as we took a field assembly for the captain.

And then...  Something happened.

We stood there, lined up and ready to go home, when we heard some very, very disturbing words from the captain as he posed on his little hill in front of us.

"I would like to congratulate everyone on a well-executed phase one of this exercise.  But we are not quite finished yet.  When we arrive back at the base, you will remove your packs from the truck, and ensure that all members of your individual squads fill their water bottles and, if needed, change into dry socks.  At which point, phase two will begin.

Platoon leaders proceed with no further ceremony.  Dismissed."


This...  This was bad.  This thing had always been referred to before as a "march" or a "trip" or some such .  Not an exercise.  And the only thing on the plan for when we got back was some basic cleaning and maintenance of our equipment, which we didn't necessarily need dry socks for (or full water supplies).

We had always heard before about how "hell week" would start off as a standard exercise, and partway through would turn into the arrangement designed to push us to the absolute limits of our ability to handle physical and mental stress.  No sleep.  No food.  ...but all the water you could drink.

And, apparently, dry socks.  One singular thought went through the heads of some hundred young soldiers that day.  "So...  This is how it starts".



...and, unfortunately, I'm going to have to leave you with that tonight.  I'm beat and numerous bodyparts are informing me of how nice it would be to relax right now, not the least of which being my knee.  I'll continue the story tomorrow, and tell you all about what happened after we arrived back at base from "phase one"...

[Sheb]

Ouch. I hope you got some kind of favorable treatment due to your ankle.

[Kagus]

Wednesday afternoon, after the bus ride back from the mountains, everyone piled out and started running about on the errands of filling up water bottles and loading out their packs from the truck.  We also gave note to the slightly harsher, barking tone the officers had taken on.  Definitely not a good sign.

A second company assembly took place in the standard location.  The captain informed us that we were now to start with phase 2 of the exercise.  Two plastic trash bags would be handed out to each squad inside of each platoon.  All members inside each squad were to take all trash and put it in the first bag, then remove ALL food, watches, mobile phones, tobacco and other personal effects and place them inside the second bag which would then be marked for squad and platoon for later return.  Each individual would later be control-searched by an officer, and any failure to remove all items would be penalized heavily.

The captain then said that, contrary to previous expectations, we would not be leaving our rucksacks just yet.  And we would, in fact, be taking off on another little march and visiting another mountain.  Exactly what we would see on this trip he could not say for certain, but it would be something "bare å glede seg til", a term the captain uses quite frequently.  It means, in essence, that you should look forward to something with only great joy and excitement.

REALLY not a good sign.  Within a short time, we started off marching in single file again at a good pace, again with the packs resting on our shoulders.  Morale was...  Not great.


We walked across part of the camp before reaching the side gate facing the nearest mountain, the one we'd done the alarm hate run for "Operation Hammerhead" on.  We were let out here and started walking towards, then finally up the side of, that wonderful pile of mud and rock we'd never really hoped to see again.

We carried on like this for a while, walking up the mountainside, then off to the right, then through some sort of neighborhood, then to the right again, across a street, and...  Was that the base?  Where the hell were we going?

We entered back into the base, and started making our way towards the assembly plaza again.  Now everyone was just confused, but there were slivers of hope that maybe, just maybe, we were going to be let off.

These thoughts were quickly squelched however, as we neared one of the warehouses along the way.  The main door was wide open, and all the troops in front of us were lining into the dark recesses of its inside.  From the entrance, we could hear the bellowed "1!...2!...3!" of an officer and the delayed reply from his assembled platoon.  The all-too-well-known sounds of "physical training and enhancement", also referred to as "punishment".

We filed in and assembled into a block alongside the other two platoons, and were quickly ordered to join in by raising our rifles above our heads and beginning the lifting repetitions in chorus.  "Rifle Gym", the only thing that can possibly get nearer and dearer to a soldier's heart than assembly push-ups.

Once finished, we noticed that we had assembled by squad, and that in front of every squad there was a 25-liter water can.  Just like the ones we had carried before over a month and a half ago.  This was really starting to look bad...

Then the captain arrived and took over the assembly.  After the proper ceremony, he addressed the troops.

"Phase 2 of the operation is now complete.  You will all now proceed with Phase 3.  Phase 3 will consist of each squad being assigned various items of equipment from the organizing officer, which they will perform maintenance on during the entirety of Phase 3.  After these items, along with the personal weapons and materials of each individual, have been inspected and approved, they along with all other personal material will be returned to its proper place of holding.

"After this, you will all be allowed to eat in the mess, then go back to the barracks for the remainder of the evening.  Tomorrow, we will continue with regular service as organized by your respective platoon leaders."


It took a short period of time before it dawned on the gathered soldiers what he had just said.  We were going to clean and fix our little lunchboxes-o'-doom, wipe the grime off our rifles, and go home.  Go eat.  Go to bed.  Sleep soundly with the knowledge that we would not be shaken out of our rooms in the middle of the night to combat some imaginary foe.

The goddamned old bastard had been pulling all our legs the whole time.  The warehouse erupted into shrieks of joy, sobs of relieved laughter, and the thunder of over 200 hands colliding in truly gracious applause. 

The captain smirked that incredibly self-content grin of his, and continued his speech.

"I'd like for all of you to remember today, and think long and hard about how quickly, and how easily, our entire mental workings can change drastically.  Not long ago, you were all very positive and pleased with yourselves after coming home from several days in the field, and in an instant your attitudes fell down into a very, very, very dark place.  And now, in just as little time, you have all been lifted back up from that.  I think it's important that we know and respect how quickly the human mind can change in this way.

"I would also like to comment on how you all handled this little event, in that you carried yourselves and followed through with it without weeping or moaning.  There were some complaints, of course, but this is to be expected.  All in all, I'm rather pleased with how all of you maintained yourselves during the little trip.

"Now, as a personal gift from me for a job well done, each individual soldier will now receive a bottle of soda from my assistant.  I expect that the required maintenance will be carried out with efficiency and to the standards we uphold here in the military.  Good day."


And...  That was that.  We cleaned the sand out of our guns, the grime out of our lunchboxes, threw our horrid backpacks into the darkest corners we could find in our rooms, and ate a warm meal in the comfort of the mess.  The day was over, the march was over, and we could get up the next morning to eat that day's meals and sleep that day's night.  No Hell Week.  At least not yet...


While I still do hold a slight resentment towards the old coot for yanking our chains like that, it was very difficult not to fall down in worship of the fellow when he said we weren't going to be dragged through the muck after all.  Especially seeing as having a bum knee didn't seem to disqualify me from marching with the lovesack.



After that, we just fell back into the usual rhythm again.  Everyone else going out during the day and getting absolutely clobbered by hard physical runs and tests, while I chill my way around on combined assistant duties and doctor's reports. 

One thing of note was Friday night, the first waffle night since we got back from summer vacation.  I'd hung up the posters as usual, and had started with the usual bugging of my fellow soldiers to come and join the show.  We were expecting a fairly decent turnout thanks to the new recruits having been informed that they were allowed to come down to us that day.  ...what we didn't expect was what actually happened.

Only about five new recruits showed up, and they did so fairly early...  Not so early that they couldn't get some waffles, however.  They didn't stay very long thanks to the other things they needed to meet up for, but I still remember the expressions of childish wonder on their faces when the poor things huddled together down in the chapel cellar and I informed them about what we offered.  Namely, the freedom to relax, warm waffles, and a true desire to make them feel comfortable and at home.  I really haven't seen anyone that deeply, soulfully grateful in a long time.

Later into the night, the numbers started picking up.  A few chaps from communications, some people from our neighboring camp with CSS, plus a smattering of student officers...

...and then a few more showed up...

...and some more...

...suddenly, the chapel cellar was packed full of waffle-hungry mouths.  With three waffle irons running simultaneously and a good stockpile already-made, we couldn't even begin to keep up with the demand.  Popcorn was presented in great pots and sent back mere seconds later for a refill.  2.5 liter bottles of cola vanished into thin air, and cookies and chocolate were demolished with startling voracity.

I have honestly never seen so many people down there before.  We ran out of chairs.  Then we ran out of chocolate.  And then we ran out of dishes.  The whole basement was reverberating with cheerful banter as all the various groups had themselves a right good time, and the irons carried on at full blast for several hours.


We watched a film, ate popcorn, got acquainted with the new folks, and just had a really, really good time.  My boss, the priest, had told me earlier that he would be stopping by at some point during the evening just to see how things were going.  I couldn't help but think how awesomely fortunate we assistants were to have a casual performance review on a night with such extreme turnout, especially seeing how everyone was just that teensy bit extra happy thanks to having already dipped into a few beers before coming over (happy hour is from 6-7, chapel opens 7...  You see where this is going).  I'd sent him a message earlier in the evening asking if it would be possible for him to bring a camera when he popped in, and we wound up with a few party photos when he finally showed.

After he left, he sent us both a text message congratulating us on the good work.  Feels good man, feels good.


Okay, so it took about an hour and a half to clean up after everyone...  But we were both buzzing like mad from having presented such a truly enjoyable evening to so many people, so we were both in extremely high spirits ourselves when we left off for the night.

Due to the late time when I finally got around to getting back, the gate into camp had been officially closed.  The guard hadn't quite left however, so I flashed him my ID and asked if he could open the gate for me since my card didn't work.

He was decent enough about the whole thing and pulled open the gate for me.  I slipped through and said "here, have a reward" before handing him the bag I'd packed with all the still-warm extra waffles that were left over.  "Just make sure to share a few with the other guards".

Alright, so I'd already done a good deed by presenting such an awesome evening at the chapel, but it never hurts to rank up a little extra karma with something like that...  Not to mention getting in good with the guards.  Never know when that might help.


Aaand...  Then we had the weekend.  I have done absolutely nothing constructive during these two days.  And let me tell you something man...  It feels awesome!

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get a bit of rest before sliding into an awesome week of office duty and assistant services while everyone else is off plucking shell casings off a mountain.  Good night everybody, see you all some other time.

[Jake]

And this would be why I decided against enlisting to get off unemployment.

Just what exactly did you do to your knee, by the way? Take it from me, sticking an ice-pack on it and figuring it'll pass in time could come back to bite you on the arse bigtime in a few years. And come to think of it, why was something to bite down on the apparent limit of the medical attention you received in the field?

[Kagus]

Oh no, it wasn't.  That was just a personal measure taken by me.  I also had a support bandage wrapped around it (which did nothing) and had most of the weight taken out of my pack and distributed between the other members of the squad.  Great for the knee, horrible for my conscience...

Why was that the extent?  Because the only options for getting to a pick-up point were walking or helicopter, and seeing as I hadn't sprung an artery the helicopter was out of the question.  And also because we, so far as I could tell, didn't actually have any real medical equipment with us.  I mean, *I* had to give the grenadier the support bandages so he could wrap them around my leg properly.


As for what I did with my knee?  Not really sure, it just started hurting like the devil and getting worse the more I walked.  Going uphill was actually relatively fine, going downhill...  Not something I'd like to think about.  When I got back and managed to get into the hospital, the doc proclaimed "Runner's Knee" and gave me a week off walking duty, at the end of which I'm supposed to come back in for a status update.

[Kagus]

Quick health notice:  I've had muscular pains in the right side of my chest since some time around mid-July.  Earlier today I was sitting in the mess and sneezed.

I heard a "pop" come from inside my ribcage and then felt a disturbingly intense pain which still hasn't quite died down yet and has added a top-wobble to my already amusing limp.


I have a follow-up appointment this Thursday, after one week of rest and relaxation for my leg.  I find it funny that I'll be in even worse condition after resting and relaxing than when I first went in...

[Kagus]

Good news:  I have good news!

Bad news:  I can't be arsed to write about it until I'm done with my leave.  Tough cookies.

[Sheb]

Damn, and me who was all like "Yeah update" when I saw you posted! Can we at least have a spoiler?

I'd say the good news is that either Kagus get to skip Hell week one way or another, or he finally managed to get a date with a girl from the bar.

[Kagus]

Fuck bar girl, man.  The wrapping was nice but the gift wasn't good quality...  Nope, got better taste than that.  ...as may or may not be proven by the next update.  I don't know, wouldn't tell you anyways.  Not yet.


Still working on hell week though, think I'm gonna play a Section 8 and claim my religious beliefs prevent me from disturbing my natural karmic chill by stressing too much.  Also that I'll make the aliens attack if they try keeping me awake for that long.

[thobal]

She's a dude.

Bar girl is really a dude. Called it.

[Kagus]

Er...  Yeah, sure, probably.  Whatever man.


So, anyways, let's talk about last week.  More importantly, let's talk about the incredibly long leave of absence we got that started Friday night and ended...  Well, Tuesday.  Apparently, someone thought it was a good use of time and money to buy round-trip tickets for 130 people for three days.  But hey, who am I to judge?  I got something out of it.  More than expected, in fact.

Let's see now...  Got the plane tickets (and thus the departure time) roughly six hours before we were to be in the air, did some last-minute packing and preparations...  Got on the plane, arrived late at night at the end airport, was torn between bussing or training to me destination, wound up taking the bus with a friend...  Bus ended up going in the wrong direction and completely passing by where I wanted to go, so I took it all the way into the central station.  Couldn't figure out where the blazes I was and wound up parading back and forth on sky bridges in Oslo until I found the subway station, where I fought a vicious battle against reality as the subway going my way managed to be, according to the electronic notice board, five minutes away from the station I was waiting at for roughly half an hour.  Impressive, when you think about it.

Finally, I got on the right subway and took it the right distance in what may or may not have been the right amount of time.  Well over an hour behind schedule, I step off the contraption and straighten my back out.

"Hi", she said.


Alright, guess it's time to explain then...  For a couple months now, I've been in digital contact with a girl over the world wide waste.  We talked at first, she dropped into oblivion for a month, popped up again, and we arranged a mickeyed-together meetup during my abbreviated leave from duty.  And, well, there we both were...  In the flesh for a change, ready to make first impressions on each other.

Seeing as we only left her apartment one time between Friday night and Monday morning...  It looks like we both managed to make pretty decent impressions.  Heh.


I honestly don't know what I've signed myself up for here...  Neither of us does, not yet.  But we've agreed to not give a damn about the technicalities and just to wait and see what happens.  Enjoy the trip, in other words.

Since she had a birthday celebration that Saturday, we dressed up to an acceptable degree and classed it up on the town at a TGI Fridays watering hole, which WOULD have advertised itself as an "American Bar", were it not for the fact that the first neon letter had died a tragic death.  Little did it know, this actually made the "'merican Bar" far more charming.  Accents will do that.

Taking the opportunity to make full use of a staff of REAL BARTENDERS and a wide selection of cocktails, I decided to try out a couple new and exciting things.  First thing on the list?  A Bloody Mary for $20 (still some things I dislike about Norway...).

The highly skilled individual assigned to my section of the bar whipped together the quality vodka, blindingly fresh celery stick and expertly pre-measured Bloody Mary mix before handing the concoction to me in a glass alongside a bottle of Tabasco and salt and pepper shakers.  He then said "fix" and left me to my own devices.

"Hey, cool" was my first thought.  I've never had one of these things before, but I'm sure I can work out some mixture that I'd enjoy.

I took a dash of pepper, a couple dashes of salt, and then a few few dashes dashes dashes dashes few dashes dashes few few few dashes of Tabasco.  Plus a little extra, just to be on the safe side.


The red bastard accompanied me back to the table where the girl sat with her best friend.  As neither I nor my new feminine acquaintance had tasted a BM before, I was of course necessitated to offer her a sip of mine.  Her best friend joined in on the fun by taking a taste too.

My double-X companion (who shall be from here on out referred to as "Pumpkin" for no particularly rational reason) was, as she had told a forgetful me earlier that day, not very tolerant of spicy food.  Spicy drinks ended up in that category as well, apparently, and she spent a few moments turning even more red than she usually does when around me.

Her friend, however, was by far less tolerant...  And apparently had occasional issues with asthma.  Unfortunately for her, she had taken a taste at roughly the same time as Pumpkin, and was far beyond the point of being warned away by her reaction.

After a few pained, gulping moments, she was forced to leave the table.  I choked out numerous apologies through my own hot sauce-inspired hiccups, but I think the inferno raging inside her head was just a little too loud for me to be heard over them.


Now, being the sad sap that I am, I of course walked her through the process of trying to douse things (no no, beer bad.  BAD.  Go ask Mr. Sexy Bartender for a glass of milk.  That's a good girl...).  Then, when I had an appropriate moment, I went and ordered a strawberry milkshake.  Returning to the table, I plunked it down on her side of the table and said "Here's my way of saying sorry, for putting entirely too much Tabasco into that Bloody Mary".

She was on the verge of telling me that there was no way I could know she was that sensitive to spicy things or that she'd react that way, but then she thought better of it and just latched on to the milkshake.  Pumpkin gave my hand a squeeze under the table.  Yes, I do believe I scored points.


I later learned that while I was away ordering another drink for myself (Frozen Chocolate Monkey.  "Dangerous" doesn't begin to describe.  Friggin' FATAL is closer), the friend had reached out, grabbed Pumpkin's arm and hissed "KEEP him!".  Good jives.

The night was all in all good fun for everyone except my wallet (did I seriously just pay 50 bucks for two cocktails and a milkshake?  I think I might be sick.  Although not quite as sick as the fellow who spraypainted that stall in the men's room with orange... 'something'.  Still not sure how he managed to hit the door behind him), but home is where the heart is and I do quite think I managed to find hers.


So...  Yeah.  We've had a pretty slack-off week back at base so far, and we're going to have a dickhole of an exercise next week ("Today's operation theme will be 'Let's Not Be Prepared'!  It'll be great fun!"), but if the military bureaucracy can pull its head out of its lower intestine long enough to stamp a piece of paper, I'll have another weekend from the 9th to 11th to spend with her as I take her along for the big collaborative birthday celebration of Hatman and Catwoman.  You know...  Approval rounds.

With any luck, I may just be able to make it through hell week coming up this month thanks to the thought of  my fair maiden being on the other side of it.  Guess we'll just have to find out.  Should be fun.


Well, that's pretty much all the big stuff...  Otherwise, HOT FRENZIED CHIHUAHUAS, who the hell invited all these people to waffle nights?  Oh, wait, that's right, *I* did...  Well, pushing out warm food and drink for 60+ people isn't THAT difficult, now is it?  Not when you're two people, at least.  Yeah.

Trying to clean everything up before eleven at night is a bit more of a hassle though.  Loads of fun when you need to run the dishwasher three times before all the plates and cups have been attended to.  Good thing I have that lovely invention of "free time" so I can attend to all the polishing and cleaning that otherwise would just sit there...  Man, I love my evenings!


Oh, yeah, update on the leg too.  Just went in for a new check and got an entirely different diagnosis, with all the syllables I could want!  Patellofemoral pain syndrome is the new name of the beast, and it just got me two weeks off heavy lifting, walking, skipping, standing, jumping, and other unfashionably leg-oriented activities.

[Siquo]

On the plus side, you can now argue that you must spend all your leave-periods lying in bed. Doctor's orders

[Kagus]

So, here's the latest and the greatest...  Last night, being Friday, was another waffles-and-film night in the chapel.  Again, lots of people showed up, and a good time was had by all.  Due to the library being closed, we had to pull a few loops and hoops to work out what film to watch...  Unfortunately, this lead to both of us assistants arranging a film on our own, and then telling everyone in their respective base what was going to be shown.  Without letting the other one know that they'd fixed the situation.

When it got down to the getting down of it, we were looking at a last-minute decision between my choice and his choice...  Seeing as I had picked "The Green Mile" and he had picked "G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra", I made an executive decision for the betterment of the world at large.  We watched my choice.


Now, there were a couple issues with this evening...  First off, we ran through over 8 kilos of waffle batter before we were even halfway through the evening, so a number of people had to go waffleless.  Second, a couple hours after working there I felt a little weird and had to go outside for some fresh air several times...  This eventually progressed into nausea, and I had to throw in the towel and let the other guy clean up.

When I got back to base, I very carefully placed myself in bed, where I tossed, turned, and barely slept for a few hours before I was awakened by the fact that I was in the process of losing a rather substantial lunch.  My roommates, as in keeping with their usual form of caring and empathic behavior, asked if If couldn't go down the stairs, into the basement and down the corridor to do that stuff in the toilet instead.  In my current condition however, I would be pretty much finished by the time I got there...  And I didn't exactly feel like leaving a trail in that way.

Now, here's the deal...  I can't really tell if this was just a one-off thing thanks to the delightful leftover fish casserole that was served in the mess for lunch, or if I'm actually sick with the puking virus which has been apparently making the rounds of the barracks.  If it's a one-off, no big deal, I just wind up having a little less enjoyable weekend and get thrust into the next week even less prepared than usual.

But if I'm sick, well...  THAT could either go fantastically or very, very poorly.  I've put in an application for leave that, if it does/has gone through (of COURSE it takes them a month to sign a piece of paper...), would mean that I'd take off for an extended weekend on Thursday.  This would be an awesome weekend, as things are lined up for me to see my parents, Hatman and Catwoman, and most importantly Pumpkin. 

If I'm really sick and wind up in quarantine for a long time, I might wind up being denied my leave.  That would be bad.  If I'm not quite so sick, I might end up in the hospital for just long enough to miss the stress-and-such exercise that will be taking up next week, while still allowing me to depart on leave.  That would be good.


Either way, I'm afraid things are indeed leaning towards me being sick...  I've been lying in bed all day, couldn't be arsed enough to eat dinner, and am now feeling slight signs of having a fever.  All in all, I'm not impressed with my chances of this just being a case of fish.

Whatever is going on with me, and whatever happens because of that, I am going to be remarkably pissed off if I miss out on this one...  Next planned leave isn't until the end of the month, and I've got Big Daddy Hate'N'Pain lurking somewhere between then and now.