I'm just a little wired weirdly

A week full of hooking up with fellow males (literally), our arms and legs all entangled in weird obscene positions, some vulgar, some plain retarded. A week that was sometimes painful, sometimes wet from perspiration. Close combat training, at intermediate level was bearable, wasn't so hard, but guess what. I, yes, ore-sama, failed it. 

Absurd. Just because of one particular lock which I happen to suffer psycho-motor problems. I failed a whole grading test of like 16 other moves whereby the other 15 I have them quite well rehearsed in my head. One for all, and all for one. Thats what they say. 

It's not funny. I am rather pissed. But it's alright. I've learnt to not take things so hard. On another day, I might have just sulked the entire weekend. But hey, failure is part and parcel of life. 

Seems like things are changing in camp, or at least I have a feeling things are going to be different soon. I'm on leave this monday (forced by the way). I booked out very late today (about 8pm) and it's Friday night. I injured my thumb so no piano tonight, I can barely grapple with the intense concentration required to stay awake. I'm sleepy, so as to speak. I did guard duty again last night to make it the fourth this month. (and no, I didn't sign any informal punishment YET).

It's one year mark. I've almost been hit by a few bullets. but i'm still alive and kicking. it's only about a year's worth of bounds left to overrun my imaginary foe. 

Sometimes, everyday life is now like a battlefield. At every conscious recognition of your own existence, you just heave a sigh of relief that you haven't been shot by a stray bullet. You pray that nothing will hit you. You see your neighbor get hit by a stray falling branch and then die from bleeding, a horrible stupid way to die. You see dead bodies everywhere. People who have died bravely, they have charged forward and then only to realize that they have tripped over a fallen branch and then get their faces poked by a stray bayonet. You see, everything is random. 

Sometimes, things happened may not be your fault. it may be just plain shit luck. war is just like that. Everyone is so worried that they die from cancer but they innocently cross on the green man and a drunk driver runs them down. the challenge is to find some source of peace, amongst the chaos. there is no such thing as relief from pandemonium. Because you may just be a old wise man with white hair and white beard just waiting in such peaceful serenity, gazing out into the horizon, reflecting on every of your own glorious adventures. and just when you think that Earth has stopped in a very peaceful position, you choke on a fish ball and you immediately check out. 

Sometimes. does the truth matter? Does pride matter. If pride doesn't matter, reputation doesn't. Like a domino, many things won't matter anymore. If your superior is wrong, will you correct him? Will you insist that you are right, and risk getting your backside poked at some other sharp bend in life? Will you perform a takedown on someone you dislike when you know it's going to hurt both of you. What is a winning battle anyway? Does it even exist.