Sometimes I just don't care.
I tried to explain it to an Army counselor once. He was interviewing me because I had just been referred to the Army Substance Abuse Program (ASAP). Apparently, the Army believes that all underage drinkers are alcoholics. Why else would anyone risk the oh-so-terrible punishment that follows getting caught? Surely such an offense requires quite a strong addiction to cause these kids to jeapordize everything. Nevermind that young soldiers are "housed" (I use that term very loosely--actually, "kept" is more accurate) in barracks with hundreds of other soldiers, many of whom are above the legal age to consume alcohol and willingly purchase alcohol for the underagers, some of whom actually promote underage drinking, and very few who ever question anyone's age. Add the fact that these yunguns (that's how it's spelled back home) are told every day that they're not allowed to drink and what will happen if they do. That makes sense--remind them constantly that it's illegal, and they'll never wonder why and conduct a bit of research. Be sure to tell them at every opportunity, though, because you need to keep that picture of a tall, golden, icy-cold, frothy pint in their easily-influenced minds. I mean, if I were a young recruit just out of high school and very impressionable, I'd probably start drinking, too. But I digress; permit me to return to the story:
One of the questions in the interview was, "What do you think will happen?" He was asking about my punishment--what I thought it was going to be.
I shrugged, "I'unno," I grunted, then, "I don't really care."
"You don't care what they do to you?"
"Not really. Sometimes I just don't care." A pause. My eyebrows glanced up, and my shoulders lifted as my palms turned outward. "About much of anything, really."
"It almost sounds like you've been smoking the wacky tabacky," he challenged with a squint.
"Oh no," I assured him, "I've been feeling like this since way before I started that."
(OK, so that's not really what I said, but it sounded funnier.)
Anyway, the point I'm driving at (while talking on the phone and swerving randomly), is that sometimes I just don't care, and the origin of the feeling completely eludes me. I'm sure that some people take it as rudeness, shyness, or stupidity, but it isn't (it's not? it'sn't?).