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contours provocations
journal - 2002-0616 - sun 1100 Not to Sleep; Being 12; Falklands A very quite Sunday morning. I'm here on my very dilapidated couch with a sleeping cat at the other end. Another sits on a table looking out the front window. It's overcast and not as hot as it has been. A few moments ago, I'm certain I heard the pinging sound of raindrops on the window air conditioner. But it quickly stopped. All week I struggled with an upper respiratory infection that caused fever and extreme fatigue. On Tuesday, I went to the doctor, who gave me some antihistamine samples, and a prescription for a "mild" decongestant. (He said that a stronger decongestant would irritate the prostate problem.) But the "mild decongestant" made me so wired, I could not sleep. Wednesday night, I only got about three hour sleep. Thursday night was somewhat better. Friday, I opted not to take the "mild" decongestant. Which allowed me to try to catch up on sleeping Friday night and Saturday morning. And again last night. But I still feel very fatigued. Thursday night, I wrote the last entry about seeing "Billy Elliot." And about being Billy and Michael's age and realizing I was a "poofer." Later that night, I was flooded with painful memories of that time. And those memories turned to anger at my parents. My father at the time was critical and tyrannical. And abusive. He was a very conflicted person with his own demons. Now, I can see he was a depressed, troubled individual. But if you're 12-years-old, you don't understand that. All you see or feel is rejection. Of course, he would try to be a "dad" at other times. But I knew I could never trust that side, I knew he would lash out without notice. This is one of those issues that I'm reluctant to discuss. And any number of times before, I've made similiar entries but erased them. But this one I've decided to leave. Late last night, I watched a special on The History Channel about the Falklands War. I'd not realized that Friday was the 20th anniversary of the surrender. Nor had I known how truly "war like" the situation was. Bombs were dropped. Ships were sunk. Jets were downed. And many young men were killed. At one point, it was mentioned that the average age of one group of soliders was 18. The main British supply ship was sunk along with its shipment of troop-carrying helicopters. The British had landed at one end of the island intent on using the helicopters to transfer combatants to the capital at the other end. Without the helicopters, the troops had to fight their way across almost 60 miles of terrain. One of those sad moments when the world goes crazy. A segment of the planet moves from the control of one faction to the control of another faction, and then back again. PAX!
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