The Broken Soldier

I’ve taken another step towards success. Through action, argument, and assiduousness I am starting Harvard Grad School tomorrow. Vocational Rehabilitation and Employment are paying for it. If I am able, God willing, to finish, my vocational success is virtually guaranteed.

To my brothers, sisters, and friends: Gather the bricks those above you throw. Build yourself a castle. Fly your flag high. It will protect your potential from crabs, big and small, who’d love for nothing more than to pull you back into the barrel. To make you as pathetic as they are and as they’d like you to be.

To my detractors: Fuck you! You’re on my list. With Harvard Grad letters next to my name, and as an aside, I’ve also been accepted and plan to start Creighton Grad’s Applied Bioethics in May, you have no choice but to take me seriously. My credentials will merit it, and my vocation, to serve our service members and vets, possibly in public office, will demand it. I’m coming for you with an inexhaustible pallet of bricks of my own and a strong arm to throw them. You know who you are. And you know to tremble at my ground-pounding approach in the distance.

I start Harvard Grad next week. Distance/online. Two courses: History of Psychiatry and Phil of Science. Should be fun.

Tomorrow some old honkies will gather in a room to decide my worthiness to receive Vocational Rehabilitation and Employment funds. Eligibility and suitability are the laws guiding them, but of course, no one in government in MI seems to know the laws governing them. The main shit bag I suffer has some real dicked-up ideas about university and the subjects that interest me.

He suggested all sorts of irrelevant shit. I can’t earn a Harvard Grad degree in Physical Anthropology because in my condition I can’t play Indiana Jones. Because of my condition, and an implication that because I’m just a dumb Army guy, I won’t be able to compete with my colleagues in the program. “They’ll run circles around you.” were his exact words. Funny. The notes in front of him showed a Shipley over 120 and a WAIS at 174. Not too many on the planet who can run circles round me academically. (Sorry detractors, I know you hate it when I talk about myself that way. You can blow me if it would make you feel better.) Now His Intransigent’s bullshit has shifted to ‘out-of-State.’ Higher costs and what not. Though the courses are mostly online, and cost the same regardless of location.

You know, at this point I don’t give a fuck what they decide. I can come up with the money. And frankly, relying on the government for anything is like relying on the retard at McDonald’s to get your ’special’ order correct. You’ll be disappointed and choking on onions? Making up a simile on the spot is hard. Fuck you people. Just playin’. I love you all so much.

On a side note, my revision is approved but not yet scheduled. I’ll keep you all abreast of what develops.

Peace,

Tsemi

My spider senses tell me my duty site is tiring of me. Not because they see too much of, I’m a prick, or I do a bad job when I’m there. No, they tire because I’m rarely there anymore, and I’m certain that sparks the Michigan ‘auto-worker entitlement’ portion of their tiny brains as ‘unfair.’

For those unaware, part of being a ‘warrior in transition’ with a Community Based (meaning home) Warrior in Transition Unit, is having a place of duty. My place is the MIARNG Medical Command on 8 mile Road in Detroit. Yes, but a stone’s throw from every FUBU caparisoned white kid’s Graceland. Not the bad neighborhood about which our hero raps (or embellishes). Mostly solid working class folks. The kind of place producing people whose ‘Ho Cards’ get pulled by people like me (SW Detroit/Ecorse/North Lincoln Park folk).

However, many seem to mistake this ‘duty,’ which consists mostly of guarding the telephone, as the primary mission. When in fact, my primary mission is to receive medical care and to reach what’s known as ‘Full Clinical Benefit,’ or some such horseshit. Meaning once the Army’s done with me, I’ll be the best cripple I can be. My ’superiors,’ he he, at the duty site can’t quite grasp this notion, though I’ve explained it on numerous occasions. They aren’t in my CoC, and rather than bring their grievances to me, as one is supposed to do, they brought it to my PLT SGT and my case manager. “I’m telling!” Nothing came of it, of course. As usual, I’m doing exactly what I should be doing. The rough and tumble, hardened MIARNG soldier never ceases to impress.

But enough about people who really in the greater scheme of my life are about as important as ants I’ve accidentally stepped on approaching the bedroom door of my detractors’ mothers, let’s focus on the title. A real issue in my humblest opinion. This is a medical station. Looks like a school in Beirut. Leaky ceilings. Mold. Water-warped hardwood basketball court on which deploying soldiers are given shots, have blood drawn, and are physically and mentally examined to suss their competence to participate in one or both of our current managed losses. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this is how we rate.

Funny story. Tried to correct a grievous error: Incapacitation Pay still not paid. I tried to do this during Muster on Rock Island Arsenal. A gala event of high-ranking, dare I say it?, yes, shit bags. (And by the by, motherfuckers, please, I’m begging you, pull a Marc Hall on me. You think I’ve embarrassed you already. You’ve not begun to experience embarrassment.)

So I sent an email to one of the CSMs I met. A man who claimed he’d help in any way he could. I gave him details of my situation, and my interest in resolving the matter.

What I received was more blame. Oh, and also a claim that my email sent to him in confidence, which he then, as seems custom in the MIARNG, sent to everyone other person in the MIARNG, started a ‘firestorm.’ He also said Finance and Health Services were aware of my problems with Incap. Interesting use of language. Finance and Health Services are aware of my problem, the problem is thought of in terms of a ‘firestorm,’ and yet for the better part of three years the problem has gone unresolved.

Well, finally the MIARNG’s neglect may work to my advantage. My PLT SGT with CBWTU suggested I should never have come off of orders when my LoD was initiated. I should have immediately been placed back on orders, and treated until the resolution or discharge. Hmmm. A 20+ year Admin SGT saying the same thing I’ve said for three years. I imagine, however, knowing what should happen in a case like mine doesn’t garner him death and UCMJ punishment threats from my ‘brothers.’

It’s possible, though I’m not holding my breath, I may receive back pay without having to fill out Incap Paperwork again (for the 20th fucking time).

And one other thing, unrelated, to you in the MIARNG who felt it necessary to ruin my name to cover your asses, spread rumors around to besmirch my character, a National Lawyers Guild Military Task Force lawyer is working with me now to, upon release from the Army, bring libel and slander lawsuits against you and possibly push for UCMJ action against you. You know who you are. Buckle up.