My quandary (in response to people worrying too much about me)

Writers, like tabloid reporters and the neighborhood gossip, have an agenda. Think about it: writing is the creation of that which is read. Writing for writing’s own sake is a fallacy. If it’s not read, it doesn’t exist, at least not in an ontological sense. But to be read, it must capture the interest of the reader. Herein lies the basic contradiction of this blog: war is boring – my life is boring. So what to write? write about the things we think others want to hear. The war, my life, my feelings and reactions certainly. I am lucky (in that respect) to be here, seeing and experiencing things that are in many ways so outside of the mainstream as to be interesting to others. A route reconnaissance, pulling cable in the middle of the night, someone being hurt… true stories, but not typical stories. I spend most of the day, every day, in an office, writing technical solutions or trying to figure out how to best allocate storage space on a server. I could post that, I suppose, but I think that even my family, who probably have a greater interest in what I do than anyone else, would rapidly lose interest.

And so I write about Baghdad, and the 10th CSH, and a long ride down Route Irish. These things are the exception. Sure, it can be dangerous over here. People are killed every single day, especially Iraqi people. And I feel guilty about that, but it doesn’t change the fact that the danger, for most Americans and even for most Iraqis, is something we see from a distance rather than experience first hand. I have fired a weapon in anger only twice in almost eight months, and that is probably more than most soldiers do their entire time over here. I am sure that statement wouldn’t apply to the infantry, or even the police, but they are the exception. The tip of the spear forms only a small portion of the entire spear, you know what I mean?

My life is different, sure, but not that dangerous. At least not in a relative sort of way. It pains me to think that what I write might cause anyone to worry about me, or to worry more. I am a Fobbit, remember? A regular Bob-on-the-FOB. Don’t worry about me.

Maybe I just won’t write for a while.