Random Ramblings 3 - Sometimes.

Rant 1 (Open Mobs ):

I always think open mobilisations are a bloody waste of time. Why else would you summon a motley crew of NS men on a Saturday afternoon and have them lug their mostly decrepit field packs, army SBOs and helmets to a god forsaken ulu camp; just to have some officers leave a few squiggles on a crummy piece of paper and have the crumbling items in the said decrepit fieldpacks inspected?

Do you seriously think we'll use the stuff in our field packs? That crumbly long expired toothpaste, the grimy, powdery camo paint or the half rusted mess tins? Granted, every NS man's equipment might be in various stages of decay depending on the time he ORDed (or RODed) or the number of times the equipment has actually seen the light of day which is in turn dependent on the number of ICTs the said NSman has gone for.

But the powers that be think so. Which was why I ended up in my slightly tight No 4, lugging the entire shebang of army equipment, otherwise termed as FBO (full battle order)- which incidentally had not see the light of day for 6 years, halfway across the island to some bloody godforsaken ulu camp in the jungle. All the while cursing the apparent uselessness of my not-too-recently obtained PES status. And all this just to sign some stupid slip of paper.

Turns out they got my PES status wrong and I shouldn't even be in the godforsaken place and unit, which was the understanding I had when the coveted status was awarded by the Chief MO last year. Inspection of the equipment was a speedy affair, largely due to advanced state of decay of a number of items in the field pack and the poorly concealed enthusiasm of the poor NSF sergeant conducting the said inspection. The helmet links were crusted in verdigris, once-pristine ziploc bags used to store the requisite field items starting to disintegrate in a sticky mess, rust on the mess tin and a suspicious mound of green in the toiletries/powder ziploc bag that did not look like powder.

Add the splotches of brown mud/mold? on the field pack and the mixed layer of grime, dried camo and corrosive SAF insect repellent which covered almost everything and you can understand why that poor NSF sgt was so eager to finish the said inspection. Not quite a bio-hazard but certainly not very far off either. Bad enough that I spent close to 30 mins scrubbing myself down when I returned.

Then to top it off, it started to pour just as I left the camp. Which meant a 10 mins walk out in the rain while saddled with my semi decayed army stuff. And I was reminded once again of the army stench, that odour of wet uniform and sodden FBO, unlocking the latent odours of dried sweat and other unidentifiable ones merging into a pungent symphony that assails the senses. Which was just bloody great.

Rant/muse 2: Sometimes.

I'm getting very uninspired about a lot of things. I'm not sure if that's even the correct word to use. It wouldn't be correct to say I'm unmotivated about a lot of things, because if I were, I wouldn't be doing those things. Because to be unmotivated naturally presumes the lack of impetus to do that thing and the inevitable consequence that you end up not doing that thing. But I still am. Doing those things, that is.

I'm just not inspired to do a lot of things anymore. I do them almost by rote, because I know they are necessary or beneficial and so I do. But not out of any particular desire or burning need to do so. So perhaps in that sense, you could say I'm unmotivated in doing those things that I'm currently doing. The lack of zest, more like it.

Take gym for example, I'm not inspired to do it any longer but I still go for my 3 or 4 weekly sessions/classes because it's beneficial and therefore I do. Of course the fact that I've paid my PT (personal trainer) also forces one to actually gym. Maybe this whole business of dating/meeting people would be a better example.

I'm quite tired of it in fact. These numerous meet ups to get to know another person, to ascertain your 'compatibility' and mutual interest, to more often than not end up being bored to death, becomes increasingly facetious. Almost farcical. Almost.

The irony of the juxtaposition is not lost on me. I'm not unhappy being single but yet I do not wish to remain single for the rest of my life. It certainly doesn't help that the singles in my current circle of gay friends are not exactly 'bf material' or are clearly incompatible. Hence the need to meet people because unlike what a colleague so bewilderingly believes, partners do not fall from the sky and drop into your lap. If anything, for the rare few that do, that is the exception rather than the rule.

So contentedly single but not singularly happy about the prospect of remaining single for the rest of my life. Ah the irony.

Sometimes I ask myself, " So what if I never meet someone I really like, a person I'd want to get attached to?"

And a little voice replies Do you really want the answer to that?

I never reply. Some questions are best left unanswered. Some answers best remain unspoken.

Ignorance is not innocence. Ignorance may not even be bliss. But it remains a sufficient state of mind. For now.