Done. Done With The Bullshit.

If I can assume you aren't self-righteous enough to get offended and stuck on the curse word in the title (do pardon my French, for I am beyond frustrated and it is the only word that really embodies how I feel), I will continue with my ranting.

I've been stuck on this merry-go-round since four-thirty this afternoon and can't seem to get off. Maybe writing it out will help. It seems to most of the time.

Water-locked. Not as fun as being landlocked. One cannot drive anywhere for more than three hours before  being presented with the choice of turning around or driving into the ocean ("drive into the river, Bob, oh drive into the river, Bob!" for anyone who has watched VeggieTales). And it isn't like you can paddle a canoe to the mainland. Oh no, not when you're 2,500 miles away from it. The shortest way there is a six hour plane ride, a trip I hope not to have to make too many more times.

But I would have gladly done it again to be home for Christmas. That was the plan. I was going to make it happen, one way or another. I was not going to sit here with sand in my ass while it was snowing in the Tri-Cities. May be something normal people dream of--not me.

So the ball was rolling, tickets were bought, plans were made, and we were preparing to leave our dog in a kennel for two weeks. I was excited as all get-out, with my longing for snow and Christmas being my favorite season.

Also wanting to get off this freaking island, see my family and some friends for the first time in six months and my grandparents for the first time since our wedding more than a year ago, just enjoying the holidays. But with my luck, I should have known.

It always has to be me. I'm not normally one of those "woe-is-me" folks, but the way the die has been cast lately, I'm starting to think I might not be allotted as many good things in life as everybody else. I've got it pretty solid, having food, clothes, a house, a great husband, and a stable bank account. But other than that, things seem to never go as planned for me. And I like plans. I like knowing what's happening and when it's happening.

Back to my story. Short version is, we got screwed over. Someone failed to tell us that since Zach is still being medically evaluated for the process to get out of the army with disability pay, he isn't allowed to leave the island. He can take the two weeks for Christmas, but he can't go anywhere. He told me I should go by myself, but we both know we would be twice as miserable that way. I would never leave him behind while I went off to enjoy myself, because that isn't enjoyable to me. And I am not abandoning him during the holidays, as big of a struggle this is going to be for both of us. He wanted to go home too.

This was a big deal. When you live in Hawaii, there is only so much you can do before you get bored out of your brain. And everything is twice as expensive here, including entertainment, which limits a person even more on what they can do to stay occupied. Adding my husband's physical limitations into the mix narrows the field even more.

We just wanted to relax and drown ourselves in holiday cheer and much-needed family time, get away from the doctors and the army and Hawaii. Trust me, there is no holiday spirit to be had (at least for me) when the sun is glaring down and it is eighty degrees outside. For me, it has everything to do with the weather and the feel of the air. That feel is not here.

So now I must settle for no Christmas. Sure we will try. We will have a tree, and Christmas music, and presents. But it will not feel like Christmas to me. No family, no chill, no lights, no snow, no fire in the fireplace, no raucous laughter, no holiday traditions.

We tried for Thanksgiving. Made the turkey, watched the parade, cheered for the football, the whole shebang. But it did not feel like Thanksgiving at all. I love my husband, but it's hard to feel merry when you're pretty much exiled to your home and it is just the two of you.

(And as a last remark, I do not blame my husband at all. Because of course, he totalllly planned to get shot, sent home, physically screwed up, live in constant pain and discomfort, then decide to get out of the military, just so we could be told that we aren't allowed to go home for Christmas. Riiiight. I don't think so. I blame this whole, crappy situation that I wish none of which happened. I hate every curveball that has been thrown our way since March. I hate every roadblock and piece of red tape that has kept us from getting home any sooner. I hate the bullet that went into my husband's leg. But my husband? Never. Some say there are no victims. I would tell those people to look at this situation and then say that to my face.)