Life in a tin can

In Louisiana I lived in a trailer park, and I thought that was hilarious. In retrospect, that might have been a good time to bite my tongue (which in case you didn't realize is not my forte).

In Afghanistan I live in a tin can. It's as small as it looks. On the left side (which you can hardly see) is the world's messiest desk. I'm still trying to get it organized. On the right side is a small excuse for a dresser (again, same lack of organization problem). You can see the walls...aluminum! The good news...they're magnetic, and therefore relatively easy to decorate. The bad news...they are covered with years of neglect, and it's taken me more Lysol wipes than I'd like to admit to make them the awful shade of gray they are now. Believe it or not, that's progress from the black they were when I moved in.

I have all kinds of ideas about how to make my new home a little more, well, homey. As you can see, step one was buying the only pink carpet at the one store on base and promptly laying it on the floor. Step two will be to cover these (paper thin) walls with some type of noise insulation followed by some fabric (to give the impression that maybe I live somewhere slightly more normal).

My wonderful husband has sent me 7 boxes worth of things (he laughed because he is delivering Pottery Barn into the warzone). My mother also sent a few boxes. I'm fairly certain this calls for some before and after shots, and I will happily oblige.

As for my first week, well, it was memorable. I'll talk about that later today when I get back from work. Yes, I work on your Saturday. But I don't work on your Thursday and Friday (that's the Afghan weekend).

Here's an actual conversation I had at the DFAC (dining facility) this morning with one of the Navy Commanders who works with me:

Him: "Looks like you're getting over the jetlag."
Me: "Yes, sir, the jetlag was the easy part. The altitude is killing me."
Him: "It still kills me. I played volleyball last night and I was winded. Playing volleyball!"
Me: "It sort of makes me feel like a wimp."
Him: "Just being here and living in these conditions is the very definition of tough. You are not a wimp."

And really, who am I to argue with that? If you need evidence, please see the holding cell that is my room in it's current state!