I have been writing this blog for the past four months, and have been here on Al Asad for three of those months. I have come to learn that writing a blog is just not the same as writing in a journal, and comes fraught with a few unique challenges, among them:

I have to write in a way such that I don’t offend anyone, at least not un-intentionally. This results in my scaling back some thoughts and concerns which, though possibly genuine, are not suited to a public forum. I hope I have been wise in choosing when to jump into and when to avoid controversy.

A blog, as opposed to a journal, has to hold some interest to the readers, or the readers will flee. Not that it matters deeply if anyone is listening to my story, but if that were the case, why go to the bother of publishing online? The problem is: interesting things simply do not happen every day. Today, for example, I could write the following true statements: I bought a rug yesterday and set it up today. It is a 4 x 6 remnant that was at the PX. The only kind they had was a blue color with a pattern of a large turtle swimming surrounded by schools of fish. Maya would love it, but I’m not sure the purple remnant next to it is quite as keen. I try, but it is difficult to make that very interesting. Might be interesting to me ten years from now, as this passage will bring back memories which may be pleasant to me. But I can’t direct my entire blog at “Future Erik.” (Or can I?)

I have to write with some regularity. My dad occasionally lightly (very lightly) scolds me for not writing. And he is right to do so; after all, I have a whole lot of family and friends who are praying for me, sending me stuff, and just generally caring about me. The least I can do is send something off every few days, let the know I am alive and well. This requires me to quite often stifle the perfectionist urge that dwells within all writers. (For a hilarious example of this, read sometime E.L. Doctorow’s true story of his ultimately unsuccessful attempt to write a three-sentence excuse for his kid missing school.) I just type like the proverbial madman, and do a quick once-over, and thar she blows. Sometimes, though, I just have nothing: no stories, no motivation, no time to write, no heart to put you all through yet another sandstorm description.

I can’t seem too sad. If I express feelings of loneliness, melancholy, pooped-outedness, sick-of-this-place-edness, etc, I risk having people wondering whether I am having a Zoloft Moment, and either worrying about me, sending me supportive replies (my favorite was dad’s suggestion to “eat a Mento”), or both. The reality is, we all have our ups and downs, but I do have to be careful how I express them in this particular forum.

I can’t seem too happy. There is a fear in me that if I am relentlessly upbeat on my blog, people will assume that it doesn’t royally stink to be here. It does. But the laundry, free food, nice people make the pain a little less. I’ve told a close friend here that when I am home I won’t miss much about this place, but I will have very fond memories of three things: the breakfasts, the bike rides, and the barbecues.

There are other issues unique to a blog-journal (the possibility of mean-spirited replies by trolls, the need in my case to avoid inadvertently revealing something of Operational Security importance, the need to avoid any accidental cultural transgressions in talking about the foreign nationals here, and so on). Overall, though, I have enjoyed writing this, and I plan to continue it, and possibly to get one of those companies to print and bind it like a journal when I get home. FYI: I do a full backup of the site every week or so, and keep those copies in a few separate locations, should disaster strike.