Case of the Mondays

One of my dining partners noticed it after another silent meal and walk back.

“There’s a sort of different vibe ‘round lately. I dunno. You feel it?”

It wasn’t any sort of bad, just different, yeah, and blaah. Everybody was sort of shambling along, like the double-digit rounds in a title fight. In the fight, barely.

Every meeting lately they tell you the same thing. “Finish strong! Now’s not the time to let up.” We’re trying, but the foot is definitely off the accelerator.

It’s sort of like the waning episodes of a TV show season. The major crises have been solved and there’s an introspective lull, just before the cliff hanger, where everything is out of danger. People look back and remember the “glory days” of some episodes back, where everything was new and scary and dangerous. Survival was minute-by-minute, and stuff was uncertain.

Now, though, we’re past all the major “whoopses.” Everybody has gone on leave, even the colonel. Now all that’s left is to ride it out and hope nobody gets knocked off in the final weeks.

The major rhythm is still in place. Another general’s visit soon. Another convoy coming up. Up to a quota of 200 pictures per week for some damn slide show.

But then it hits me. Two words that sap my already languid disposition: another year. There’s another cycle of this for ol’ Salmons. It’s like a wound that bleeds the strength out of my day. Another year, wow. Hard to think about now, so I’ll just focus on this iteration, where we’re nearly in the single digits for “weeks to go.” Aaaah, much better!

Yes, I will definitely be ready to get on out of the service when it’s time for me to get on out. Until then, just 60-some-odd more Mondays before I can flip this war the bird.

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