Fried on Fridays

Most of the rest of the world looks forward to Fridays. We here at Mologne House do, too. But not for the same reasons. Some of us get out and about. Some of us are stuck here listening to the noise from weekend BBQs in the courtyard. But mostly Fridays are about being fried.

Fried from five days of pounding in PT and OT. Walking. Struggling. Getting our legs "adjusted". Building muscle. Sweating off extra pounds. Sweating out toxins (my sweat has the oddest odor since I was blown up). Climbing on that damned shuttle bus to go back and forth and back and forth between Mologne House and the hospital. Learning new things you can't do and things you might re-learn. Meeting new soldiers and Marines who arrive every week. Chain-smoking as many cigarettes as possible. And, in my case, trying to go to work too. Sometimes I fall asleep on the ride in.

Usually on Fridays I can't imagine how I will stay awake for the weekend much less alive for yet another week ahead.

But plotting the end requires more strength than I can muster.