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weekends suck

I've started and abandoned several blog posts in the past few days. Spewing out negativity as always, complaining about neighbours, noise, smoke from grills. I'm like an old lady or something.

Rare is the occasion that Mikey plays quietly with his toys, giving me the chance to sit and write. Normally it is reserved for when he is in bed, thoughts snatched between his various wakings throughout the night. I find that I have trouble sleeping now, it never used to be a problem, but even when he is sleeping it takes me a good 30 minutes or more to drift off no matter how exhausted I am.

But he is playing quietly now. I'm listening to a Cat Power covers record, the windows are all open and the fresh air is flowing through the house. It's a beautiful day outside too, I think we're going to go and play in the playground a bit later.

Weekends are the worst time during a deployment. There's something lonely about seeing all of the other soldiers home with their families, when mine is not. Or seeing the dads outside in the playground with their kids. On weekends I just want to hibernate until he is home. I always think I'm doing very well until Saturday morning arrives.

I am sick of this blog layout. I suppose I should spend this evening updating my code, I have some idea in mind although I'm certainly rusty at best with this coding malarkey. We'll see.

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I am a 24 year old British stay at home mother to a two year old boy. Married to a U.S. soldier and currently living in Germany.

I have seen the Vatican from the very top of St Peter's Basilica, the mud in the World War I trenches outside Ypres. I have walked through Montmartre side streets bustling with people in the evening, gotten lost in the streets of Greenwich Village NYC, run through cornfields on the Welsh border and sat outside with a cup of tea watching fireflies in the fields of the outer Chicago suburbs.

I have held the hands of others through addiction, fear, suicide, despair and come out the other side. I have left everything behind to begin anew.
I have fought mental illness and walked through snow in the mountains of the lake district, England. I have explored the morgue in the bowels of an abandoned hospital on a summer evening, climbed to the top of scaffolding on the outside of a five floor warehouse to look at the city lights of Nottingham at night and I have watched the sun setting on the Texas horizon.

I have held my son's tiny hand through the plastic window on an isolette in the NICU ward. Walked, speaking only in whispers, through the catacombs beneath the ground on the outskirts of Rome and seen the fireworks over Heidelberg castle.