Watch Your Step. That's my head.

I got to talk to my cousin Sarah today. She's in Baghdad, an MP in the Army. Every time I talk to her, it breaks my heart. There she is, 10,000 miles away, with her "new" family of soldiers. We're all over here in Nebraska, worrying about her being 10,000 miles away. I got on the phone with her, after everyone else talked to her, and asked how she was. I asked her if it was ever quiet there and she said, "No, there's always something going on. We just all just do our jobs and pray that this isn't our day to go." Great. Sarah's 21 years old. If I could trade places with her for a week, I would. Just to give her a break. This is her second tour in Iraq. This time they told her to expect to be over there for two years, but she switched companies, so she is coming home in December, probably for close to a year. That was a big relief. She has met someone, too. An MP named Mike that she says, "I think he's the one. I think I can settle down and stop looking." I told her I was very happy for her, and that I always thought about her and she was in my prayers always. I didn't cry, though. This is like, the first time I've talked to her on the phone that I didn't cry. I normally try to wait until I get off the phone with her before I start leaking, at least, but this time I didn't even cry. Maybe it's because she's coming home in a month.

It was a good holiday. Good food, good conversation, good card games where I didn't win a single game. We had fun and talked and laughed. I had such a splitting headache by the time I got home, I thought I was going to puke. A person can only take so much family togetherness before their head explodes. I didn't eat like a pig, which I'm very proud of. I've been on a weigh lost plateau since I got back from Chicago in October. At least I haven't gained. I keep telling myself that, but what I really want to do is throw my scale through a window, jump out after it, stomp on it, hit it with a hammer, use a jackhammer on it, paint different, lower numbers in white out on the display, and run over it with a steamroller. But, my head hurts too bad to do that, so I will just keep it under my bathroom cabinet, where it normally sits, plotting it's next incorrect reading. "Let's seeeeee...." it cackles..."Let's flash that 5 at Angie this time again, and then quick! Change to 8! Maybe she'll hurt herself this time when she kicks me." Diabolical bastard, that scale.