Or perhaps, Beckett?

One week after the rest of the 115 MPAD went home, we find Ed still in Kuwait, waiting for the connex.

All I have to say is, if Ed volunteered for this job, "someone" is meting out stronger vengeance than I ever could. Summer has arrived in Kuwait. Temperatures this time of year reach 110 degrees during the day, dropping to a not-so-comfortable 85 degrees at night. And, to help time move even more slowly, Ed's days are filled with, well, nothing to be done.

He wakes up in the morning and checks on the status of the connex (currently in Samara, roughly halfway between Tikrit and Baghdad, about 60 miles further away from Kuwait than it was a week ago). He then spends most of the day in a coffee shop, reading. He planned to travel to another base recently, because he had read all of the "free" books at the one he is at. He is currently reading Angela's Ashes; a nice, uplifting tale. Although, who knows? Perhaps it helps put his current situation into perspective, or at least make it seem not so bad.

He also occasionally goes to the gym (although he's got to be running short on NPR podcasts by now) and sometimes, albeit rarely, braves the three hour line to get on the Internet. But the word that truly characterizes his day (other than boring), is waiting. Waiting for the connex.

His no-later-than departure date of this Saturday is now uncertain. He might leave on Saturday. Maybe Monday. Maybe not until the connex actually arrives. Which leaves us with this short poem:

The question is, will the connex ever show?
Or are Ed, and I, simply waiting for Godot?

Tragicomedically yours.
Kathy