I'm back! Now leave me alone!

I know you have been missing me. I could hear the sound of you crying yourself to sleep all the way from Fort Jackson. It was barely audible over the sound of me crying myself to sleep at Fort Jackson. Kidding. A few updates before I get into the real meat and potatoes of my griping:

Basic Training was a like Stripes, G.I. Jane, Major Payne, and Full Metal Jacket all rolled into one, but at the same time it wasn't like any of those. The DoD is trying to build a different kind of Army, one that doesn't blindly follow any orders given because of rigorous brainwashing. We we, of course, encouraged to follow orders with motivation, precision, and a sense of purpose, but we were also encouraged to ask questions -- as long as we did it standing at parade rest. A lot of running, jumping, climbing, shouting "die, motherfucker, die!" while shooting really big guns, obstacle courses, and really terrible food. But there were no blanket parties, no one shouting in my face that I'm a miserable piece of maggot shit or similar, and I didn't invade Czechoslovakia with Harold Ramis. What a rip off. All in all, BCT was a very positive experience despite the near-constant bickering of my fellow soldiers-in-training and the absolutely constant homesickness.

Now I'm living in San Antonio and am finally in the Department of Combat Medic Training school, which is why I raised my right hand in the first place all those months ago. I still live in a bay with 60 or so other female soldiers all in bunk beds, which brings us to the gripe for which you have been waiting so patiently. Here we go: There is something about the Army, apparently, that renders a person incapable of picking up on the subtleties of body language. You would think that living in such close quarters would make a person better at reading such things, but you would be more wrong than two boys making out in church on Sunday. Here's the deal, guys. I have lived with you in a giant, bunk bed-filled bay since January 20. And because of the Army's battle buddy policy, I literally have not been alone since . . . I don't even remember the last time I was totally alone. Maybe since the last time my husband took a shower before I shipped out. My best course of action is to assume universal "I'd prefer to be left alone" body language.

I lie on my side facing toward the wall with a book.
Hey, battle buddy! Look what I bought today!

I lie on my back, eyes closed, with ear buds in.
Yo, Lester! Do you want a cashew?!

I sit with my computer in my lap.
'Sup, Battle! Don't you think that sergeant is cute/a real prick/super funny?

I sit facing the wall, computer in my lap, ear buds in my ears. I only remove one of the ear buds to respond to you, and only after I pretend to not hear you for the first 5 seconds you're speaking, and I immediately replace the ear bud after giving you my answer in as few words as possible.
Ugh, Battle, I am so annoyed with my boyfriend!

I failed to mention that each of the italicized sentences is delivered while my fellow soldier is sitting on my bed. Now, I generally have an open door bed policy when it comes to hanging out with and talking to my battle buddies, but I don't know how to make it more clear that it's not a good time for visitors. I fantasize about shouting, "Can't you see I'm ON THE INTERNET?!" I realize that makes what I'm doing seem very trivial when compared to actual human interaction, but come on. Everyone needs to be alone sometimes. It's hard to take a crap when your battle buddy is up your ass, yaknowwhatimean? Not that I do that. Because I'm a lady.

Anyway, glad to be back. Now leave me alone once in a while.