You wouldn't know because I've never said a word about it, but I have the army in my blood. Family who served proudly, men who trained at Sandhurst. My divine late godfather was in the Royal Air Force - like a freakin' boss. I was honestly considering the Navy, before I remembered I don't like getting up early. Or exercise. Or boats. And I will admit that it only takes the words 'I'm in the army' for the elastic of my knickers to be tested. Sorry I had to take it down to that level for my own good.
I didn't fancy putting any of those experiences on paper. It's all a bit too close to home - the waiting around for one lousy single page letter or a two line email (I mean what the fk, I know you're bored, but come on!); the arguments with people who pretend to be pacifists and despise the military but have no problem smacking a bottle over someone's head if they've had too much to drink; the heart stopping moment when you watch the news and hear the words "a soldier was killed today..." until you remember that you'll be informed before they make it public or you freaking hope they would.
Nothing fun or romantic about it as far as I knew. But writing is my therapy. I understand better if I can make up a whole story around it. So I'm pretty close (please God, thank you) finishing this tale and putting it to bed. If only the stupid thing would stop making me cry... Let me watch a few episodes of American Dad and I'll be fine. American Dad or Confessions of a Male Stripper. That'll do it.