Writing From An Army Bed

I am lying on my bed in my army bunk in my second week of reservist training. I have showered and powdered my self to comfortably feel at ease. My feet and shins itch though from the unease if being in tight socks encased in snug boots for a good 16 hours. It is 1043pm. There aren't many thoughts running through my head. I am a little tired though perhaps not from any physical strain. There was a bit of to and fro with helping the management plan their activities and recruit understudies. I am hopefully in my final year here having recently turned the ripe old age of 39. The planning help I render requires a bit of brain power - some EQ, some IQ, a little creativity and sometimes sheer determination and steadfastness and a smidgen of sell-in. Otherwise there are templates. I co-opted a few wannabes into this mess hoping they might want to carry on with this next time around. I don't know, maybe I have led them into greater misery. Outside there maybe regular physical stress and manual labour. Here's a semi-cushy time in air-conditioned rooms facing captains and colonels testing their whims and fancies, watching military management runs its course, drawing and typing and measuring and listening. I'll ask them tomorrow. And tomorrow we venture out to the jungles of Singapore, on a mission no less! I should get some mud on my boots and grass on my face for the last time. It's been a hoot folks. I hope to get some shut eye for what promises to be a roller coaster of a day.