I just came from a redeployment briefing. One of the many things the army excels at is killing you slowly with briefings. I had to listen to six different people talk about how not to kill yourself and how to balance your checkbook upon returning home. Our chaplain actually gave a really great presentation about reintegrating with your spouse when you get home and to take things slowly.

But nothing there really meant anything to me. The battlemind training doesn’t apply to fobbits. I’ve never left the wire, nothing has blow up next to me. All in all, I’ve just worked seven days a week for the last year and occasionally kitted up to visit an out site.

I’ve got no reason to be anxious about going home.

Except that I am. And I think I do.

See most folks are going home to the barracks or to a spouse. They have a place to go to. I’m going to a house that will have been devoid of human and animal life (at least I hope animal life, otherwise, it’s going to be a sad faced day explaining why I’m screaming at the huge spider in my foyer but that’s another story and another house). I’ve got to wait somewhere around 3 weeks before I can leave and go round up the family and by family, I mean children, cats and dogs (thank God I’ve convince my five year old that her bunnies’s life spans will be significantly longer if they stay at Grammy’s house).

The list of what I have to do in that three week period feels a little overwhelming. I’m not looking forward to shopping for a new washer and dryer. I don’t want to go grocery shopping. I don’t want to have to rush home from work every night, sit in traffic and cook dinner only to have my five year old refuse to eat (to everyone who said she’d grow out of it, she didn’t, it’s worse now). I don’t want to go to Starbucks and I don’t want to sit on a flight in Killeen waiting to take off for Bangor.

All in all, life is simpler over here and when I think about everything that I have to resume doing when I get home, I get a little anxious. I’ve discovered I dislike busses, which I assume is going to transfer to a really fun flight. I get nervous in intersections. I haven’t petted a dog in months and I haven’t had a cat licking my pillow near my head all year long.

There’s so much that goes into daily life at home and that doesn’t include the fact that I’m hoping to be a real writer at some point and actually sell a book or three. That’s just more time that I really don’t think I have. I can’t stay up all night writing because I have to be up at 5 for PT.

It’s a little disconcerting to be feeling anxious about going home when I should be happy and looking forward to it.

Truth be told, I’m pretty damn anxious.