There are probably 3 people besides myself with beards on base. There’s the porn ’stache contingent, like something out of Tales of the City, the guys who look out of place in them, in their flight suits the colored of the most abundant resource around these parts. There’s the 5 o’clock shadow contingent, the slightly more rebellious men, skirting the rules, playing with the time possibilities of a 24/7 operation.

I was keeping my beard closely trimmed, to go with the hair, (even though it also lightens it and hides the red, makes me look younger in that trying to look older way), but now my charger won’t light up and I fear it will cut out when I’m halfway through, which would leave me with only one option: a lunch time rush to the PX to get a new trimmer (having seen their selection I’d end up hurting myself, necessitating waiting to go into town, or far, far worse) to re-balance the Dr Jekyll Mr. Hyde look that would be sure to appear.

I’ve started moving my mouth with the words to songs lately at the gym. Takes my mind off the thing, although sometimes lately the odd songs come on, the ones that i don’t know if I would have really noticed as much before, or at least require a different mind space. Some are just so funny when you consider the place that I have to laugh as I wordlessly sing along. Gossip’s Music for Men is in heavy rotation and Le Tigre’s classic Viz is hitting every note. Stripped of the whole aura of indie self-satisfaction and just able to appreciate the music for what it is, that’s what I’ve missed. Still, I try not to completely slip out of the world to observe it; I miss too much that way. Lots off La Roux’s latest album. It’s weird, but her slow, methodical parsing of her songs actually works well with my abs work out, though no one can beat the Beyonce. It’s helping mitigate the current (until the last episode) Angela Montenegro experiment only so much, but at least I’ll look a bit more fab when I do return.

The next 2 months are going to send me like so much buckshot into the air and I won’t really know where I’ll be or even if I’ll be in touch, whether the holidays will even be holidays in anything but name, so I’m taking my days to myself, a little imposed exterior control. A whole weekend this time, a half day tomorrow, then we’ll see.

I’m finally catching up with the rest of the world, or at least part of the US and every awards show for the last 3 years: I’m watching Mad Men from the beginning. Nothing to say beyond what has been said, though I’m not sure they ever imagined their shows being watched on a C-130 or C-17 (hopefully more of the latter, against the wall please, with less corkscrew) on perfectly two episode timed hops. I caught 4 episodes on my flight into Doha on my way, and I just can’t seem to get away from reading Slate’s reviews of shows I haven’t seen.  They aren’t reviews so much as discussions, which leaves me enough to watch the shows themselves.

I would never have thought that I needed a paper bag over my head to judge my strengths and weaknesses, but that would cover up those exceptionally well tuned (for now, though I swear it’s fading on the left), yet overly endowed ears. I’m already learning things. What ever else is in either category I already know. I can be objective about the subject at hand, it’s one of my greatest assets, I just pretend that I’m not.

The iconic C-17, looks ungainly, with its sheer size, its squat wheel wells low to the ground, and its above mid level wings. It seems destined for smooth flight, no small movements, only slow large ones. This is a lie. On takeoff it gets off the ground swiftly (when lifting flesh and bone at least), so swiftly that if there was a window, you’d doubt your eyes. The lie is further ennobled by the “corkscrew” maneuver, which is one of the few times during my visit I was most happy to be wearing something heavy to press me down into my seat. It is akin to imagining a rhino perform a pirouette, but perhaps with more grace.

The take off was at least the sign that I was finally getting back to civilization, after 4 days of trying and failing, to secure a flight. All told, the trip back took 26 hours, which I will find it easy to use, if it doesn’t expire on me. In addition I took the day of my return off and today, as a weekend ersatz, as I had by Monday worked 13 days straight. I could have kept going but not before I caught up on some sleep.

It’s not really dust, it’s very, very fine sand. The use of the words “particulate matter” is appropriate. It covers everything. The second you step out from washing your hands they quickly feel dusty and dry and you might as well not have bothered. We use the remainders of water bottles, the warm kind, with backwash, to wash our hands, and in the absence of paper towels, (which are probably dusty anyway, turning the hand-drying into a mud sodden affair every now and then) wipe them on the inside of our pockets, or let them air dry.

Hand sanitizer insults my intelligence. It merely provides a moment of a whiff of alcohol before drying out my hands and making a nice landing pad for the airborne moisture thieves. Add to that that viruses and bacteria will simply develop a tolerance.

Khaki pants are so dusty that I don’t bother to sweep anything away with my hand before sitting, only making a motion to remove it from my pants when I stand. The T walls make for a less dusty seat, but your legs have to do a lot of work.

The boots are as reported: comfortable, well ventilated and still in need of breaking in.

If you think you can fight the dust, you’re tilting at windmills.

Mission accomplished. Mostly. A few hurdles can’t be leapt just because it would be useful but I’m closer to clearing them. Mostly the paperwork dragon giving me burns and cuts, but I’ll fight back once I get “home” to my emirate and my own room, armed with PDFs, certificates, and print outs.

Now I just wait for a plane, which can be like Hotel California on repeat. The one you want to take gets cancelled, or is full or some odd change that keeps you on the ground in one place when you need to be on the ground somewhere else.

I haven’t really started missing anything, nor anyone yet. I have a fairly good life here, even with the 40 hours even before Wednesday was done. I don’t really want to hang out where I am right now for one more day, but I just might be here for another day or a few days. It’s frustrating, but not rife with surprises, just waiting.

No visits to the IZ this time. Just getting my feet dusty here on the outskirts as a starter. Lots of PSCs (Personal Security Contractors/mercenaries) who I keep at a distance and am grateful that I ought to have very little interaction with. There are a few who are easy on the eyes but: “STAY BACK 100 METERS” applies.

Mission first, but oh for a day or 2 off.