As I promised, a post will come shortly with stories (and info) about graduation. I'm still working through jet lag and photo gathering. Expect to see it in the next 24 hours.

Term End Exam grades are in - one as expected, one a pleasant surprise:

CS482 - Information Assurance: A
HI302 - History of the Military Art (1914-Present): B
IT400 - Information Technology Seminar: A
IT402 - Integrative Capstone Design II: A
IT493 - Independent Study (Honors Thesis): A+
LW403 - Constitutional and Military Law: B
MX400 - Officership: A
PE430 - Rock Climbing: B+

Semester GPA: 3.722
Cumulative Academic GPA: 3.522

With that last barrier out of the way, now only a few paperwork items and a few nights sleep separate me from my diploma and from freedom. Grad Week begins!

Done. Finished. Completed. At long last, the journey of a thousand (likely lots more) is complete. My last Term End Exam is finished, and since I have a good reason to believe that I passed, that means that my time at West Point is now officially coming to a close. No more tests, APFT's, medical exams, or any of the other nonsense stands between me and that shining May morning where I leave behind Cadet Gray forever.

It's good to be done.

Oh, and in the interests of coolness (and disclosure), I was indeed shocked to discover my photograph on the front page of the New York Times yesterday morning. When I woke up and turned on Outlook, I found fifty-odd messages with links to the story. So, I headed down to Central Guard Room to get my hands on six or so copies so that my family could have some. They care about it more than I do (it's neat, but not the end of the world).

Now comes the packing and cleaning phase. Lots of work yet to do, lots of boxes to fill, and a good chunk of final paperwork to process (ah, bureaucracy!).

Life continues in its inexorable march toward inevitability...

I went down to the Manhattan Temple on Friday. It's been a while - too long, in fact. I suppose that the chaos of recent months provided me an all-too-convenient excuse to stay in my barracks room and rot away the hours. The hundreds of lines of Python didn't help any either. However, recent events demonstrate that being stressed and being blessed are not mutually exclusive.

After a long month (very long, as it was more like two months), the USMA Cyber Defense team took top honors at the NSA CyberDefense Exercise this year. Four days cooped up in a windowless room watching the logs scream as malicious traffic streamed in proved stressful. I think I averaged three hours of sleep for the whole week, as I tried to perform each of my various responsibilities while preparing for the Capstone Design Project presentation. Ultimately, it paid off - victory once again.

Then after many more hours of coding, we prepared and presented our final design to the Project Judges on Projects Day, taking top honors once again as the best Computer Science project. Our sponsors within the Intelligence Community awarded us a special commendation on behalf of the Deputy Director of the Central Security Services. It read like a Medal of Honor citation (translation - it was given to hyperbole). My team was greatly pleased to have our work recognized, especially in light of the many hours we put into it.

And now, the only thing between me and freedom is Term End Exams. Once again, the final duel with the Dean comes down to this. Everything is at stake; hopefully I remember everything from a semester's worth of reading.

All sounds good, right? I wish it were.

What I'm about to do makes me sad, in a way. Sad because it represents the end of something that has been such a deep part of my life for so long. However, it is withering, and I simply do not have the energy to nourish it much longer.

I've done this a few times, and I must once again. I do not know if it will be temporary or permanent. However, I know that it must be.

Six years have passed since I first poured out some small, struggling part of my soul on to the front page of this blog. Over five hundred heart-felt entries, comprising nearly four hundred thousand words, have left an indelible mark on my very soul. But with the changes coming, the transition out of the cocoon of West Point, the end of school and the beginning of reality, and the "graduation" of much of my former audience (on to bigger and better things, mind you), I can say that there is little left to be said.

After the final report on Graduation Day, perhaps with a picture or two for your perusal, I will bid those stone walls and this old journal a fond farewell - the former with tears of joy, the latter with eyes moist from...I don't know - the word escapes me.

Is it regret? Loneliness? Sadness? Or perhaps a sense of accomplishment, of perhaps having made a difference in one person's life somewhere.

This blog will stay online, however. I leave it as a memorial to a part of my life that I can safely say I wouldn't have given the world to replace, but neither would I have given the world to repeat. And who knows the adventures that await? Who can foretell the stars amongst which I shall soar, the depths which I shall plumb, the stories I will yet write and the mysteries which I shall discover? Someday, when the time is right, I will return and speak once again of the dreams lived and lost.

For now, it is enough.

"May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand."

~Irish Blessing

Nineteen days...

I guess I don't have many opportunities to just sit down and collect my thoughts. So may of them are focused on solving the problems organic to my major, my PL job, my projects, and life in general. In the end, reflection opportunities don't come very often.

A couple of updates while my brain gathers together:

Had a briefing on 10 April with the Deputy Director of the NSA. We presented our project to him, and then he gave us a mind-blowing SECRET Classified briefing to us, of which if I even attempted to describe the contents I would be breaking the law. Nervous? Not us, even if he was the equivalent of a three-star general.

Went to the National Conference for Undergraduate Research, University of Wisconsin - Lacrosse. Had a very enjoyable time hearing presentations, playing Frisbee golf, and being away from West Point. Gave a short, more abstract version of our NSA brief (with all the classified material cut out) to a pair of inventors and a microbiology major. Neither understood what MapReduce meant, nor did we understand anything about all the proteins the microbiology major discussed. Briefing went off without a hitch.

Announcement came on Monday - Eternal PMI for Firsties. That means no more room inspections ever. Almost cried tears of joy.

Cyber Defense Exercise went well. Spent many eight-hour days outside of class learning what FreeBSD was and how to build an intrusion detection system out of one. Tried to use the latest version of Snort but got royally screwed in the process. Lost thirty hours of my life to the native C compiler. Learned that sometimes it is better to stick with the old version. Received a commendation in the form of my very first Positive COR ever (yay!) for leading the IDS team to victory over the NSA red cell. They assumed that our rapid responses to their attacks were an illegal automated system instead of a bunch of sharp-eyed, shouting cadets. Managed to hold them off for four days. Slept little.

Worked on lots of graduation announcements. Procrastinated on sending some of them out. Learning to hate the Cadet Mail Room.

Attempted to prepare our cluster computer for multi-core processing and hosed the boot partition in the process. Was severely tempted to shoot the computer. Slept little again.

Hours this weekend (I hate the CDO shifts). Aunt took me to the Culinary Institute of America, for a $60 meal. Stomach died and went to heaven. Came back and learned that Netcat doesn't copy hard drives very well. Did TAPS check again.

It's almost 0200, and I'm wide awake. It's a lonely night...however, only twenty-seven days separate me from freedom...

The school year – and indeed my entire school career, as far as formal education is concerned – winds down far more rapidly than I had ever anticipated. Shortly, I shall put it on hold for a time, at least until the next available opportunity. I think that as I go through my time at Fort Hood and at the other assignments, I’ll probably take the time to catch as many computer science courses at local schools as my limited schedule will allow. There’s a part of me that really wishes I had done CS instead of IT – I tend to draw more towards the science and the theory of the discipline, and the rigor of the courses leaves a little to be desired. If I didn’t have to take so many core courses (Mil Art, Law, International Relations, and the like), I’d probably have taken every course the CS department had to offer. I fully intend to continue some of the research tracks I’ve followed over the past year. It’s all fodder for my overly-analytical brain.

The past three days were a welcome break from the craziness of my duties back at the Point. A trip to the National Conference for Undergraduate Research (NCUR) at the University of Wisconsin – LaCrosse was an opportunity to present our research to date, and a welcome mini-vacation of sorts. Ten cadets from the EECS department went, and we all had a decent time jabbing each other and telling (or avoiding) nerd jokes. I thought the experience would be more intimidating, that the professors and other students in the presentation rooms would be far more knowledgeable about our field than even we were.

I guess not. It would seem that my Academy education has actually taught me more than I realized at first. The Firehose of Knowledge that this place uses to inundate our brains actually got some things to stick. I found myself with a conversational knowledge about many of the topics others there had researched (with the exception of anything chemistry-related). One of the other Computer Science majors there was presenting on his relational database design, and had used a design simpler than the one my team put together for our IS450 project.

So now I’m in transit back to the academy. With five weeks to go (holy cow), the pressure is on to finish the massive amounts of work yet ahead. And yet, the excitement is building, the best parts yet ahead.

This: http://www.cracked.com/article_17061_5-things-you-think-will-make-you-happy-but-wont.html

It’s been a while – I hope you forgive me. To say that I’ve been drowning in tasks is an understatement. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised that the Corps is still holding itself together, given our stress level and the anxious pacing of Firsties at the door of Graduation.

I can see where the “Corps-has” attitude comes from, because now that I’m privy to most (if not all) of the bad news that goes around, from the company level all the way up to Brigade, all I see is a disintegrating state of discipline. Some blame it on the higher leadership, and I’d have to say that there is merit to that claim. Some just blame it on the Firstie mentality, one of a certain masochistic nostalgia (“Back in the Old Corps, we had it way harder…”) and outright senioritis. Not that you could blame most of my classmates; after all, most – if not all – of the major policy changes to hit this institution have affected our class the most directly and painfully.

In forty-odd days (whenever I get around to posting this), it will be time to relegate this place to a dark cell of my mind, to be recovered as a reminder that there are worse things in life than whatever situation in which I may find myself.

This is no small statement. At lunch earlier last week, my classmate recounted a story he’d heard from one of his buddies now deployed in Iraq. To quote the lieutenant directly:

“It’s 130 degrees inside my Bradley, I haven’t slept in a day and a half, I’m sweating just sitting here, I’m getting shot at, and the only thing I can think of is ’Thank heavens I’m not at West Point.’ Seriously, no joke.”

On to another and more serious note – I’m composing this post from my seat 30,000 feet above the ground in a Boeing 757 on a Friday night. I’m supposed to be cleaning for SAMI, one described by my Company Commander as being an 11 on the 1-10 scale of outright stupidity. The reason for this is twofold – One, I got a special pass to an event I’ve wanted to see for my entire life, one of the General Conferences of the LDS Church. Proceedings are broadcast, but anyone who wants to (and has the time) can go to the Conference Center in Salt Lake City. I finally had the money and the time (Special Pass) to attend. Reason Two – my grandfather has just been diagnosed with bladder cancer. It’s not especially serious, as they caught it relatively early.. He’s determined to come to Graduation, and everyone expects him to be there. Still, I felt the urgent need to go anyways.

The man has been through so much, there are few words to express it. Four coronary bypass surgeries and complications from diabetes haven’t prevented him from hanging on so far, but it’s been touch-and-go for nearly thirty years. Every day is a gift to him and to us.

---

Post-conference report: I remember as a missionary, when we would tell people that our church services (including the Sunday School-type classes) was three hours long, many of them would visibly flinch at the idea. Even more amazing to most was the concept of General Conference itself – two hours the week prior for the women, then four two-hour sessions on Saturday and Sunday of the next week, with a two-hour Saturday evening meeting for all men and boys twelve years old and older. Altogether, this is ten hours worth of church, a marathon session indeed.

My opinion of General Conference has changed over the years – to borrow a phrase from wine connoisseurs, it only gets better with age. Each year, I find that my life and experiences, while often very difficult, provide me with a new lens through which I view God and life. Hopefully this is a result of me actually making improvements.

This year, having had the opportunity to attend in person, I can safely say that I had no idea what I was missing. Ever since I was bouncing on my father’s knees as a wiggly three-year-old, I remember going to the local meetinghouse to watch the broadcasts over satellite. However powerful those meetings might have been (and were), actually seeing it in person is completely different. The power of the Spirit of God truly was almost tangible. I heard (and wrote down) many things in my life I need to change, things that gave me hope where it has been lacking, and most importantly, a more intimate understanding of Christ than I had previously.

This time around, the landmark talk was by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. I had the opportunity to meet him in Boston back in Fall 2007. I was always impressed with his ability to tune his messages to those who needed healing, and often his talks have somehow managed to hit the core issue of whatever I happened to need at the moment. This time, his talk “And There Were None” really hit home.

I guess it’s no secret that I carry burdens. My writing often betrays some of these (usually a certain unwillingness to forgive myself) – often it shows the hurt still un-soothed underneath. Afraid of the reality of another person’s love (fraternal, platonic, or romantic) I have kept everyone at arms’ length, rejecting every compliment, nursing every criticism, minimizing every good word and deprecating self under the pretense of “building humility.” “Would to God that I could be a better man!” I cry, forgetting that it is mercy and not justice with which I should be guiding my life. I have forgotten these truths, and thus condemn myself to solitude.

Today, I received reinforcement from Elder Holland of the things I always knew but never fully internalized. I need not walk alone, I need not carry these condemnations, because such is actually an act of the deepest pride and blasphemy. In effect, I say to He who knew loneliness in its purest and most utterly terrible form, “I’m doing this myself, I don’t need You”; this to He who was alone so that I need never be. Of a truth, I never am and never will be alone.

I’m glad I came. Even if the travel has been inconvenient, even if I lost study time, even if I’m sleep-deprived and weary from being shuttled across the continent over and over again, even if it cost two month’s salary, it was worth the price.

Got my Lieutenant uniforms today - just another layer of Academy veneer being stripped away. Reality is coming, and it approaches faster than I'd like. There's too much to do between now and then - I have to keep pace...

Graduation announcements are in as well - time to make a list of people to send copies. I have a partial list almost 100 people long (invitations for family members and a few other people as well). Almost half are going to Canadian addresses - it's amazing how many people I really got to know in the short times I spent in each of my proselyting areas. There are others, old friends, long-lost contacts, former teachers - hopefully a few relationships may be mended in the process.

While I remember, there's someone I need to see in person before I leave the East Coast, someone who deserves an apology that I never gave. I hope time has helped to heal that wound, but I need to finish the healing. I don't have much time.

Time - that's the precious resource. As each day goes by, I realize the speed with which the previous six years have passed. I opened this blog on 12 April 2003 - it's both easy and hard to imagine who I was back then. And with sixty days left on my calendar here, I realize the immensity of the work before me. Time is precious, and each day is becoming more and more valuable.

After a very long week of attacking computer systems, I am left with an odd mixture of knowledge and doubts. I enjoy what I'm studying, but I'm not sure anymore whether I want to spend the rest of my life studying Information Technology or Computer Science. I can't place my finger on it, but I feel adrift, listless, and largely without anchor. Perhaps it's all the uncertainty floating around in the wake of so many failed promises and lost dreams.

West Point can easily be summed up thus: it sure wasn't what I expected it to be. And now, on the edge of yet another major shift in life, I don't know where I'm really headed. Oh, sure, it's all planned out, what with my branch and assignment to Hood and all. But my own impatient personality can't seem to let go of its insatiable desire for some glimpse of the future. What lies ahead? Is there any clue?

Of course, the biggest of these unknowns is perhaps the scariest - that decision that I find myself dutifully procrastinating at every possible opportunity. What's worse in my head, the possibility that I might screw it all up, or that I might actually succeed? I have to admit that there is some security in misery and loneliness - at least you know what's coming. Not that anything positive couldn't happen, but do I really deserve it? To borrow an analogy from IT professionals, could I take a chance at vulnerability in the hopes of maintaining a connection of any kind?

It's all questions. More and more questions, recursive questions, queries and inquiries without end - when do I stop asking and start answering a few of them? It's all just one big fork bomb, without a process terminator anywhere in sight.

Sixty-one days...

Been having a rough couple of days.

My TAC NCO said it best: "West Point is like a prison - you're always locked up, you can't go nowhere, there's lights on the towers and you're always in uniform. And it's like a deployment - don't nobody leave you alone, there's always orders flyin' at you all the time, and you don't ever get a break."

I concur.

It got to the point where I reached nervous breakdown on Tuesday afternoon - the stress got so bad that my left arm went numb for several hours and I got the shivers. A combination of a major capstone project, three papers, a mandatory training event (that I'm teaching) and TWENTY-THREE CREDIT HOURS of work this semester left me on the brink of insanity.

I couldn't take it anymore, so I did the one thing I thought I never would - I actually dropped one of my classes. In a way, it was really sad, as I enjoyed the class and the teacher. However, it wasn't strictly necessary for my major, so it had to go.

There's some relief in that, but the core issue is still somewhat raw - I can't fight off the loneliness that keeps badgering me. Hopefully, that too will soon end.

Tomorrow I leave for Charleston, SC, for a computer security professional certification course. It replaces my Spring Break, but had I just gone on vacation for that week, I'd probably be sitting on my parent's couch or playing computer games - generally being lazy and unproductive. I prefer something intellectually stimulating to boredom, and since I'm not the party guy, this is a great deal. Plus, it's a three-thousand dollar course that the Academy is covering. Life isn't so bad after all.

Funerals don’t usually bother me. I say that in light of several experiences (mostly from my time in Alberta), especially when I know the purpose of life and the reality of the eternal soul. But this one really got to me. It wasn’t sad because of her passing, but it was for her family, now left without a mother and a wife. Sudden, shocking, and wholly unexpected, especially when you consider that she was at the prime of her career.

On Thursday, 26 February, LTC Jeanne Hutchison, my Regimental Tactical Officer, passed away suddenly after contracting an illness. One day she was here, the next, well – she had left. Unlike most of the cadets in the regiment, I knew her personally. I’d worked on the regimental staff for a semester and had become acquainted after a time. Thus, when we got the news after Mandatory Dinner last week, I was surprised. However, I didn’t feel grief – just a hollow numbness.

Originally, I wasn’t going to attend the funeral. You see, this officer had been my boss for a time, and we had a severe difference of opinion over several matters, most of which I now consider trivial. I had left my staff position with a sense of relief, of getting away from what I perceived to be micromanagement and oppressive policy-making. I also carried some bitterness towards her as well.

Oh, if only man would not be so shortsighted, to suffer slights at the hands of one who bore no malice! To see every misstep as intentional indignity! How petty, how shallow, how unholy –how unbefitting one such as I, who knows better.

I suppose that God gave me a chance to repent, because on Sunday night, the admin sergeant emailed me: “None of the other Firsties will accept this assignment, so I thought I’d ask you. We need ushers for the funeral service on Tuesday – can you do it?” Without hesitation, I accepted.

Tuesday morning comes. I methodically polish my shoes and prep my Dress Gray uniform, even going so far as to purchase brand new white gloves for the service. My usher staff and I trek up the hill to the Jewish chapel several hours in advance of the 1300 service. As we walk through the snow and bitter wind, I keep turning everything over in my head, again and again. My heart is numb, my mind wanders.

As the mourners arrive, my team is sharp – they perform their duties to perfection. We escort and direct them to their seats and listen to the memorial service as it starts. There is standing room only in the sanctuary, and the overflow room is filled. Cadets, officers, friends and family members stream in for a solid hour. And still, my military bearing doesn’t break.

The rabbi closes the service, the mourners depart, and I dismiss my usher staff. We are only obligated to the chapel service itself – the interment at the cemetery is wholly voluntary. As I prepare to head back to the barracks, something stops me – a whisper, a tugging at the heart. I can’t stop, and turn around back to the post cemetery.

The day is bitterly cold – mourners shiver in their coats, cadets tuck their chins into the overflowing long overcoat. Tears seem to freeze on every cheek, and the misty breaths of stifled sobs merge into a light fog. The wind is merciless, biting at the eyes and cutting into every ear. Fifty – no, a hundred – people crowd around the plot. The honor guard brings in the casket, reverently and methodically placing it on the bier. Twenty-one guns crack to the tune of a mournful Kiddush and the faint notes of TAPS.

And then I see it – the honor guard has folded the flag, passing it to the Commandant. He leans down and places it in the lap of the young daughter.

Uncontrollably, tears blur my vision and the scene fades into a grey-and-white mist. They’re going to be without their mother, their wife, their friend.

Now I understand. Now I know what it means to mourn with those who mourn. And then I felt the real hurt – I needed to forgive. I needed to let go, to truly let someone rest in peace. I had to give her that peace.

I hope you can forgive me, even though you never realized what I did.

Her children placed handfuls of earth on the casket. One by one, the family bid their farewells. The service complete, I made the long, lonely walk back to the barracks.

On a lonely Friday night in the barracks, a few cadets prowl the hallways looking for some form of human contact. One such wandered into my room the other evening. The topic of the evening: graduation.

"You know," he remarked, "we don't have any class weekends left. The next big thing is Graduation!"

Yeah, he's right. The three of us (my roommate included) started running through things we wouldn't miss.

"We're getting released! Finally, after four long years of BS - "
"Six years."
"That's only because you left this place - you should have graduated two years ago!"
"Hey, it still counts."

"What else...lame inspections, demerits, AMI, WAMI - "
"I say we drink to Eternal PMI!"
"Here, here!"

"People walking into your room at 2300, wanting you to do stupid stuff - "
"The best part is, when you go home at night in the Real Army, you GO HOME. No one calls you unless one of your Joes is in jail - and the best part is, you can just leave him there as long as you need to."

"Mess hall food (what the **** was up with Wednesday's lunch? Live squid?) - "
"Or steak four weeks in a row."
"How about we leave some of it in front of Kelly Kidd's door again? She might get the picture finally."

"Well, I was walking by the CCQ the other night and leafed through a stack of papers, all concerning summer assignments. No more of that crap."
"What, you didn't volunteer to go back to CLDT this summer?"
"That Air Assault slot just wasn't worth it - it was just a lame bribe."

"Yeah, this place is kinda like prison, except prisoners have it better. Better weight rooms, better food, more TV channels, and they don't have to fill out paperwork."
"Well, you don't get assaulted at West Point."
"Are you so sure? Isn't that what CLDT was?"

Big belly laughs go around, and TAPS sounds, dismissing our gripe session.

Of all the facets of the human reality, emotion is the most complex, and perhaps the most baffling. How, I wonder, can something so clearly subjective be so real? How can these things called feelings really exist, how can they be comprehensible, and why are they (sometimes) so much more compelling than anything else?

*steps back*

What I should really ask myself is, “Is this real to me?”

Anger, resentment, pride, frustration, and pain – those I understand. Those emotions are palpable, tangible, mostly because they are all I have known for so long. I’m too used to feeling hurt all the time that when something comes along and shakes my world up from one end to the other, I’m completely lost; I have no idea how to react. It’s scary, it’s intimidating, and it’s something I’ve not experienced often, if ever.

But it’s not a bad thing.

Longtime readers will know something of my battles with the demons in my head (internally and externally inflicted). You will recognize that Angst (with the capital A) is the central theme of probably half my posts, and that a more upbeat tone is somewhat lacking overall. That emotion has driven this journal for the most part, and it is what usually fuels my posts. However, tonight is different; something has changed. I think I can say that I’m actually happy, that I’m enjoying life. Yeah, I admit that the frustrations of this place still get to me now and then (see last entry), but the knowledge that this is the end, that graduation is now a real concept in my mind, is comforting and liberating.

That’s not all, but I’ll leave the rest for a Friends-Only post.

My summary of West Point this semester - I increasingly feel like I'm in a relationship with someone who is cheating on me. In this case, I think it's the leadership perpetuating this feeling.

I'm just absolutely frustrated, tired, and ready to explode. I am done with finding out about problems in my platoon from the commander and not me. I'm tired of hearing that officers discuss MY PERSONAL PROBLEMS via the gossip chain. I can't trust any of my bosses, and I'm having an increasingly difficult time trusting my subordinates either. Furthermore, I'm tired of watching cadet responsibilities disappear into the nebulous bureaucracy (demerit systems, pass requests, etc.). All I want to do now is hunker down and finish my research before my sanity evaporates completely.

Ultimately, I think that my TAC made a huge mistake in giving me the PL job this semester. Between class (I only have one free hour off every two days), the Cyber-Defense Exercise (five hours nightly of prep time), my capstone paper (put off once again), personal PT (an hour for swimming/running/etc.), I have almost no spare time for my "Military Development" responsibilities, which are becoming as soul-sucking as mid-level management. I'm learning how to do a job that would be more adequately handled by Michael Scott.

I don't discuss these issues with anyone important anymore. All I care to do is send a memo. My rationale is that if they actually cared, they'd visit me in person instead of dancing around the issue.

As I think back to the events in my life leading to a cold morning in New York City in February 1910, I cannot escape the feeling that God had been mindful of my existence.

----Vincenzo Di Francesca, 28 February 1951

It's a cold evening, but one not too different, I believe, than that day nearly one hundred years ago. I think I can say the same.

My personal studies of scripture lead persistently-stubborn me, over and over again, to the Christian doctrines of mercy, to help me realize that I shouldn't worry nearly so much about everything. Ever skeptical, ever impatient, almost too ready to believe that I'm a day late and a dollar short, I find that Cecil's God-shots (see related post) happen all the time, if only I look out for them.

You may ask, "What does any of this have to do with Post Night?" Tonight, I witnessed another, one that took me by surprise so quickly that I didn't know how to react at all (hopefully I didn't blow it).

As I expected, all the "good posts" went out well before my turn came to stand up and announce my choice. The Lieutenant Colonel reading the names and calling us down to the front would usually advocate one post or another to the cadet who was the least bit hesitant about their selection. Most shouted out their choices immediately, and the few who wavered, he would make suggestions.

When I arrived up front, my favorite post choice (Fort Meade) had long been taken. He told me to wait a moment before announcing my decision, and then in a voice that the other cadets couldn't hear, asked me, "Would you like a Meade slot?"

Incredulous, I stared at him for a second, brain churning. "But there aren't any left!" I stammered. Was he serious? "I don't want to sign up for another three years in the Army just to go to Fort Meade."

He seemed persistent, but I rushed through the decision and announced, "Fort Hood," to the waiting crowd. Still, I was curious.

After everyone finished choosing, I realized that I had not told him about my desire to go to Meade, and I knew that he hadn't made that offer to anyone else. My curiosity couldn't be restrained.

"Sir, are there actually any Meade slots left?"

"No, but they often come open during the Officer Basic Course. Keep an eye out for one."

I knew, somehow, that someone had told him of my desire. I felt the impression that I am still supposed to go there, even though at the moment it doesn't look possible. Something tell me, deep inside, that God is indeed aware of my existence, and that He really is looking out for me.

This impression couldn't come at a better time - life is none too pleasant at the moment. I found out on Monday that the scholarship program I'd been promised doesn't actually exist, so no Grad School. However, if I end up at Meade and I need more technical training, they'll send me anyways. The dream isn't over yet.

For now, it's Fort Hood, Texas. In four or six months, who knows?

A dream…

--It’s morning. Too early to be awake – aargh…who invented mornings anyways?

Sunlight casts its first timid beams across my eyelids. Light, golden red and fluttering, taunts me, playful and yet mischievous. Warmth – a sensation long forgotten – brushes my forehead and beckons me.

No gray today, it promises. Only the opportunity for light.

--Promises are easily broken. Opportunities fade. How naïve do you think I am?

Only as much as you want to be. Naïveté is not the same thing as faith. Faith is knowledge in the unseen, not belief in the unknown. You of all people should know the difference.

As if on cue, the breeze gently pulses, heavy with spring perfume. She teases my hair and whispers in my ears. The rustle of aspen leaves chatter - sotto voce - echoing their melodies in return.

Young one, you fear opportunity - why? She patiently, lovingly chides. Soft, motherly laughter, then a pause. It is the height from which you leap that is the terror. Most cannot see the bottom to know why they must jump, and yet they do – you see the end and recoil.

--I don’t know how to do it! I want the end, I want to be down there, but I cannot leap!

Eyes open, slowly at first, soaking in the color. The azure of the sky, deep and vibrant, replete with the setting crescent moon dancing by the brilliant sun; the oak and maple stretching their limbs heavenward as if to touch eternity. Fields gleaming green, and all is filled with life. Spare clouds play hide and seek with the sun, playing their patchwork game with the shadows.

Knowledge is a gift, they wisely intone. Temporal, mortal, and eternal, it would distill upon you as the dew from heaven, if you would let it. Remember that the knowledge you seek cannot be found here and now, for if you had it, life would lose meaning.

--It can’t be that simple, can it? I’ve studied for years, I know what to do. Knowledge’s never been the problem. Only the future bothers me.

My legs carry me to the river, as it rushes, ever hurrying, ever scurrying. It pounds on the rocks and cascades over cliffs, pushing, punishing, tumbling.

Patience is the key, echoed the benevolent thunder. I don’t know where my path leads, but I trust that I’ll get there someday.

And then the voice. Singing, pure and clear, rivaling the angels in all their glory. There she stands, indistinct in the distance, arms outstretched, shining as the new-fallen snow. I can only approach so far. Her voice breaks for a moment, and the last notes fall into minor keys.

Take the step. Don’t wait, please don’t wait. You may say you don’t deserve happiness, but Someone wants to give it to you. And this time, three hearts are bound up inside.

--I’m not ready…

You may say that, but Someone knows better. Can you have a little trust in your heart? Is there room for that?

Sunset falls, the sky lights up in vibrant orange and red, and then cools to the blues and purples of twilight. Night comes, and the stars appear, and I’m alone again.

Another late night - this early in the semester, and I've had no shortage of post-midnight forays into the land of Cadet Insomnia. This does not portend well.

Cutting to the point of tonight's entry, I've felt somewhat disappointed about the effort I've put into this journal lately. Something's missing - my enthusiasm, perhaps, but more than that it seems like the poetry, the soul of it has taken a rather lengthy holiday. There's some reluctance built in, I think, in anticipation of the change in paradigm that awaits me in a little over 100 days.

That day - Graduation - has me more worried than exuberantly anxious. I see in myself more flaws than I can count, especially where it concerns my abilities to deal with other people. Since this is the main focus of the Army's leader-development program (especially at the academy), it leaves me wondering and "what-if"ing more and more. What if my pre-disposition against the more physically intense branches of the Army will mean that I get blackballed? What if the SIGINT soldiers really do care more about my 2-mile run time than my proficiency with the technical equipment and the heavy analysis with which they are so familiar? What if my refusal to buy the rhetoric means that I've screwed myself?

In short, do my intellectual talents and preferences become liabilities in a stubborn anti-intellectual military?

Let me elaborate:

For example, the Academy in particular preaches, rightly so, that combat is the Army officer's primary duty, but in this rhetoric is a more carefully concealed obsession. Everything is about "hooah," about the next high-power assignment to an Airborne unit or to the Ranger Regiment, about deployment and about the supposed legitimacy that comes from trading lead with radical Islamists. Just Monday, the Military Intelligence branch representative brought in about eight officers, five of whom had started at Bragg. They all tried to tell us that without a deployment tour or some crazy combination of schools, we weren't really officers, and that we wouldn't be able to get the most out of our careers. "Don't go to Hawaii," they echoed, "that's just a candy assignment where you don't actually learn anything."

I almost burst out laughing from the absurdity of it all, especially when the three officers that followed them didn't take the Combat Arms route (as MI officers assigned to Infantry units), but instead worked at the strategic level through INSCOM. They were just as satisfied with their careers as the crazy "all balls, no brains" types. I'm hoping, then, that my niche skills find a home in the unknown of the "real Army."

Overall, my reaction is mixed, at best. Some anticipation for my pending emancipation, but not so much for the indentured servitude that awaits. Hopefully the latter doesn't destroy what slivers of faith I have in the future of my own career.