My sleep last night was constantly interrupted by the sound of wind whooshing past my mansion o’ plastic. Now I have indeed previously documented that it gets pretty windy here in the not-so-fruited plains of hill-country Iraq. However, my swank bachelor pad in scenic Al Asad (motto: “the ultimate gated community”), is completely surrounded by 25-foot-tall concrete barricades, and therefore the fact that a good amount of this air was bashing my walls all through the night was a bit troubling. On a couple of occasions, I could feel the canister straining at its foundation, threatening to break away. I thought about looking out of the window to see what was going on, but was too lazy to get up. (Also, I was a bit afraid that I’d see Toto flying by.)

When I got up around 7, it seemed to be very dark outside, and the wind was still whipping fiercely. I looked out the window and saw…well, pretty much nothing. There was a serious brown-out going on, with the dust nearly obscuring the front door of the can directly across from me (maybe ten feet away). I hopped on the internet, as I always do in the AM, to check out what you guys have been saying about me all night, and noted that the OIFnet service was down. A few minutes later, the TV went down as well. You can probably guess what would fall next.

As I was getting dressed, one of my medics came by and said that he had been sent in the truck to pick up my neighbors and I (the non-breakfast-going bunch) and drive us to the clinique. I declined his offer, as I wanted to ride my bike around and check out the damage. The ride in was fun, with faster winds than I have previously experienced forcing me to lean heavily to one side, just to keep my old Huffy aloft. By the time I made it to the clinic (only a quarter mile away), I (or rather the right side of me) was covered in highly refined brown silica, a.k.a. Iraqi dust.

When I opened the door to the clinic, I noted that the electricity had gone down yet again, but this time I had an ominous feeling that it would not rebound quite as quickly as before. This feeling proved correct, as the power did not go back on for the entire day, and phone lines, internet, LAN, all were down as well. Our clinic is in a building that (per rumor) was previously a bath-house, and hence has no windows except for some of those transom-types about 14 feet above ground level. This means that when the electricity goes out, it is very very dark. All of us have these little white LED lights on our keychains (Al Asad, like all bases in theater, is blacked out at night, so those little babies are essential), so we used these to get around, and saw what patients we could see, but not many showed up due to the cloud of dust. So, most of the day was spent sitting in the hallway where the open door gave us a little light, coughing and talking about the usual subjects (home, clinic, dust, the upcoming PT test).

Lunch was Cordon Bleu (again, no animal specified) and then I slipped back to the canister to see if the internet had come up there yet. No dice. For afternoon clinic I saw a few patients, listened to a book on my iPod, and had a little nap on one of the exam tables. I figured that I’d be awakened, sooner or later, by the lights going back on, but it never happened. A few of the medics, and my nurse practitioner were given the opportunity to go home after about 2:30, as it seemed that the lack of light and the paucity of patients would result in an exceptionally slow clinic, but not a single person on the medical side left. If some of us were sitting in the dark, than all of us would sit in the dark. Army people are unselfish that way.

At about 4 PM I accompanied SPC Penkert to get the mail, and I was rewarded for my efforts with a package from mom and dad (thanks for the Chex mix–woo-hoo!). Then, since the brown miasma was still hovering over Al Asad like Pigpen, and therefore no exercising outside could be done, I went to the gym with CPT Baker.

If you have never been in a smallish gymnasium which is

• full of sweaty marines lifting weights
• in the middle of the desert
• during a dust storm
• when all of the electricity is out
• with no air-conditioning or any other kind of ventilation system
• and silly you, you completely forgot to bring your toxic gas mask

then I am here to tell you my friend, you have simply NOT LIVED. However (and I say this as one who has experienced the above and managed to escape with just enough strength in my festering lungs to tell the tale), there just may be some things worse than not living. To (just slightly) paraphrase Patrick Henry: “Give me liberty or give me death. But please, PLEASE give me death before you make me go back into the Al Asad Gymnasium when the A/C is out.”

Fortunately, the lights came back on at 5:35 PM. When they came on, I could see clearly that the brownish haze was actually inside of the building as well as outside. I rode my bike back at around 6 PM, with the Pigpen miasma still keeping things real, and eventually got home to (finally) functioning internet. Lorri and I spoke for a bit, I had some delicious Hormel something-or-other, and then I settled down to watch that fabulous Mormon talent show “American Idol.”