"Do you ever think about the war?" she said, laying a hand on his thigh.
"Sometimes," said Billy Pilgrim.
Billy doesn't really have to think about the war. He keeps living it, over and over, back and forth in time. Valencia has no idea that there's a chance, once she goes to sleep, Billy will jump back to Germany, Dresden, or Tralfamadore. The war is constantly with Billy, whether he likes it or not. He doesn't get a chance to suffer from PTSD, because the trauma is never post. Always present.
I am exhausted tonight. I was at an Independence Day fireworks display until after 11 p.m. Got home, took a shower, went to bed. The alarm went off at 4:45 a.m., and my day began. So, I am operating on less than four hours of sleep, and my day still isn't over. I have rehearsal tonight with my praise band, I think. That will last until past eight o'clock, at which time I will come home and finalize the plans for a poetry workshop that I'm leading tomorrow night. I'm not saying this day is going to give me PTSD, but I'm certainly not going to have any fun.
I'm feeling a little brain dead right now. Usually, after I'm done working at the medical office, I get a second wind to prepare me for the afternoon and evening responsibilities/festivities. About the only thing I have the energy for is a nap. A long one. If I close my eyes, I fear that they won't open again until tomorrow morning.
So, let me sum up the extent of my wisdom this evening:
- Fireworks, good.
- The day after, exhausted.