The Commitment Engine

Turning the Key Again

TFR — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 19:44:48 +0000

Holy crap that has to be one of the longest intermissions in history.

I know, I know – where fuck have I been? School that’s where. Yeah – that’s right…school.

Through most of this incredibly hot and busy summer I have been finishing up the last class I need to complete my bachelors degree. Like any good procrastinator I waited around until I was 40 to get serious about finishing the stupid thing. Even more typical I saved the most painful classes for last. So – with record heat – differential equations – my commute and my day job all beating the shit out of me I decided to let my writing take a short vacation.

I’m disappointed in myself for doing this, but failing my last class would have caused me to miss out on graduating this summer. If I didn’t graduate this summer I’d miss out on my next military promotion board. If I miss that board – it’s so long and thanks for all the fish to my military career.

With my military career gone – little things like my families health insurance are gone too – and a retirement I’ve been working toward for a good long time.

So as little as I care for that crappy little piece of paper, getting it was vital. If I were single I might have given the Army the finger and simply left, holed up in a shack somewhere in Oregon and spent the next few years writing. But I’m a family man and I have the distinct feeling that the wife and kids wouldn’t be big supporters of my shack plan.

So why did I wait so long to get my degree?

I don’t know. Mostly because I’ve never needed one I suppose. When most of my counterparts were swilling away iced coffee and cramming for midterms I was hanging out with anti-poaching commando teams in the Kalahari Desert. When they were sweating finals I was sweating through mass-tac airborne operations and learning leadership from airborne ranger qualified NCO’s. Some of those guys couldn’t balance a checkbook or read much more than a comic book, but they taught me more about life and living it than anyone in academia ever has.

Honestly – the darkest parts of my life – where I felt the worst about myself and accomplished the least came after I left the military and tried to be a dutiful commuter dad. I started playing the corporate ladder game and realizing pretty fast how little you can trust anyone in it. Up every morning – drive to work – put on a fake smile – pretend the work you do matters to ANYONE. By the time 9-11 rolled around I was looking for an excuse, any excuse to get the hell out.

Uncle Sam? It’s TF – yeah – can I come play again?

Of course I can.

Since then I’ve managed to keep things moving along steadily. The military has afforded me some truly excellent combat vacation opportunities and they keep me tight with people that are actually worth a damn. I even managed to get a university to hire me as an IT Program Manager (even though I didn’t have one of those fancy degrees they like so much).

US Army Vacations - Pants not required or recommended

It wasn’t until I accepted a direct commission in the Army and had to put away my Staff Sergeant stripes that a degree held any meaning at all for me. I’d finally found the one place where I couldn’t hang out anymore if I didn’t get that piece of paper.

So after I got back from Afghanistan in 2009 I got serious about finishing.

And man oh man have I been an obnoxious pain in the ass ever since. Sorry honey….

As of yesterday I finally received my diploma in the mail. I have mixed emotions about the thing. I’m glad it’s done. But I don’t feel anything other than annoyed relief at having it. Don’t get me wrong, the next time I apply for a job somewhere I’ll mount that bastard on a pike and wave it around for all it’s worth. I’ll use that degree to impress (or placate) people that think it really matters. I’ll paper cut you fuckers that don’t have one and wait for you to bleed to death. I mean – I never wanted one – but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to use it now that I have it.

Hell – maybe I’ll even enroll in a masters program and do something with this writing habit of mine.

Writing.

Oh yeah…that whole thing this site is supposed to be about.

Time to get back to work. Turning the key on the engine again – right NOW.

More Tentacles…

TFR — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 18:15:49 +0000

Jorge started thinking about what some of the demons are supposed to look like. Tentacles seem to be pretty popular

Beaten By Math

TFR — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 20:05:41 +0000

Nothing like going back to college when you’re 40. Gah. That’s right – MATH defeated the regular post today. I’ve been trying to overcome decades of ignoring college algebra and it has been eating up my writing time. Luckily, Jorge had something with evil flaming eyes to make up for me slacking. Back to regular schedule ASAP.

Zero Hour +1 – Dodge the Nut Shot…

TFR — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 12:30:20 +0000

Getting out of the building was something that Eric could get onboard with. Bandana to his nose he gestured toward the gaping maw of the ruined sixth floor.

“Getting out of here sounds great,” he said. “But we can’t go up and downstairs sounds like feeding time.”

The woman frowned thunderously and Eric took a small step back. He had a second sense for when a women wanted to yell at him, or hit him. The vibe he was getting told him that this chick was ready to do both.

Nut shot, he thought. Definitely a nut shot.

He tensed.

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr

Zero Hour +1 – Show me your angry eyes….

TFR — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 12:30:41 +0000

“Ma’am, you need to back on off of me,” Eric said. He winced, he’d been going for menacing, what came out ended up sounding whiny and petulant. He pulled the bandana away from his nose and blood coursed down his face. He turned his head and spat.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you not to spit in front of a lady?”

Eric put the bandana back to his face and tried to glare at the woman.

“Don’t you be showing me your angry eyes, we need to get our collective shit together and get out of this building.” She said.

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr

Zero Hour +1 – Please don’t eat me…

TFR — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 12:30:13 +0000

Eric pulled a worn bandana from his back pocket and put it to his nose.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice pinched and nasal. “I thought you were one of them.”

“One of what?” The woman said and pushed herself even closer.

“One of the monsters.”

“Do I look like one of those things?” She replied, hands on hips, eyes glinting.

Eric waited about a beat too long before answering.

“Do I look like one of those damn monsters? Are you twenty kinds of stupid? Do I look like I’m gonna eat you?” She said.

Eric swallowed. Don’t say it, man.

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr

Zero Hour +1 – Eric’s Poor Nose

TFR — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 12:30:40 +0000

Head aching, eyes watering, Eric got to his feet. He was nearly knocked back down again as the big woman bustled right up into his personal space.

“Are you some kinda stupid?” She said, eyes wide a sheen of sweat standing out on her forehead.

“Standing right in front of the door when I’m trying to come through. You realize that there are monsters out there don’t you?”

Eric staggered and only just managed to catch himself. Gingerly, he felt his nose, pain arced through skull and his hand came away bloody.

Dammit, why are women always breaking my nose?

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr

Zero Hour +1 – Eric finds a friend?

TFR — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 12:30:26 +0000

This is it, I’m gonna die.

Scrambling to his feet, Eric lunged toward the door. He wasn’t fast enough. With terrible speed, the door flew open and slammed into his face. For a moment the mind altering pain made the world just go away.

He floated there for a moment, images from his life roaring by in a torrent. With a shuddering breath, life and light came back into his world.

“Fool, what are you doing standing in front of the door?”

There was a very large, very scared looking black woman in a purple pant suit standing over him.

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr

Zero Hour +1 – Eric procrastinates – demons don’t

TFR — Mon, 30 May 2011 12:30:09 +0000

They’re gonna be here any second.

Eric looked for something to wedge the door with, he found nothing. Not that it mattered, he’d seen the demons tear through walls to get at their victims.

I’m only on the fifth floor, maybe I can jump?

He discarded the thought quickly. A fifty foot drop onto pavement was a bad bet. Running out of choices, resolution firmed.

I’ll fight. Another series of screams boiled up from the stairwell, so very, very close this time.

Lover, not a fighter, he decided.

Something hit the door hard, Eric sprawled face first onto the floor.

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr

Zero Hour +1 – FEMA needs Wal-Mart

TFR — Fri, 27 May 2011 12:30:19 +0000

Bill Holder thought he was going to lose it.

“Get some? Are you goddamned serious? Of course you’re going to get some, colonel. What I want to know is how?” Spittle flew from Holder’s lips as he raged. The tall national guard colonel glared down at him.

“I’ve got 12 vehicles and a basic load of ammo for the soldiers in each of them,” Johnson said. “I recommend we make a run for Jacksonville Airbase.”

“That’s half an hour away on good day, colonel. What’s your backup plan?” Holder asked.

Johnson’s gray eyes were calm.

“I don’t know, Wal-Mart?”

***

Zero Hour
An Apocalyptic Drabble Novella
Art: Jorge Batres
Story: Tomas Rofkahr