Sunday Routine
Doesn’t Support
Sanity
I seldom if ever smelled French fries when I was on the ship during my enlistment. But when I did smell French fries, it was usually on a Sunday. Sundays usually served as a “time out” for a few souls on our ship. For a few, the Sunday routine meant one of the few good meals to have throughout the week. For some, it wasn’t much of a departure, but for a dear friend it meant so much more.
My dear friend was someone I will call “Clint.” (This is not to defend the innocent, but to obfuscate for the guilty). Clint found a way to avoid the bothersome elements. He looked forward to a day in his rack, but it wasn’t all for sleep.
Clint was like many sailors, who had previously embraced sanity, then lost when faced with the blatant stupidity the military threw at him. Coupled with stress, the sanest among us found themselves acting outside of what normal boundaries were. I dealt with stress by playing pranks and joking. Some snuck away for naps and video game playing. Clint was fond of a form of ritualistic masturbation.
Most everyone enjoyed a good wank every once in a while, but Clint was verbal about it. Clint would have a devious smile on his face when he headed off to work or he would jokingly proclaim his “success” at achieving temporary bliss. During one non-descript Sunday routine, Clint broke a record of sorts with his dopamine chasing activity.
Clint, after a scrumptious meal of unhealthy food, told me that he was getting bored and wanted to sneak off for some entertainment. Everyone knew what he was talking about, it was no secret. It was his dopamine chasing activity.
I had been tasked with other duties shortly after we had that conversation. I was moderately busy with these errands and subsequent windows of disappearance time. I had not seen him in a few hours. Upon meeting up with him after a few hours’ disappearance; Clint appeared tired, burned out, yet smiling. He had this strange backward leaning shuffle going on. Clint volunteered that he “spent the entire day masturbating“ and that he “must have done it at least six times.”
I looked in amazement that a man could be capable of such feverish action. I looked at my own life and concluded that the military did not support sanity at all, but fostered the worst dealing with stress. The only thing that Clint had that many others didn’t was the ability to self soothe.
And in this ability, he earned my respect.
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