I smell delicious. Like chocolate, mostly, but not quite chocolate. Perhaps chocolate and caramel? Mixed in a house where the air is heavily laden with cinnamon? What IS that?
Oh well. I actually make a point of leaving most of the real pleasures at home right now. Thanks to the relative proximity of the base, I can visit home once every month or two. That'll be changing now, with on-base duty changing around and snow flying in (I do NOT fancy driving seven hours by myself in this stuff - that accident on the way back from Sheridan left a fair shiver of respect in me for winter driving), but for the last eight months, I have left a fair number of the things that make me happy back there.
It's not that here is exactly terrible. It's just a little rough. And you never really let your guard down, ever. You don't ever really trust people - you think you do, and then you come home, and you're with friends that you'd fall asleep on, that you'd open your heart to, that you can be happily vulnerable with. And then you realize that, oh, wait, I don't do this with anybody on base.
It's kind of like an umbrella, that's all. Stuff keeps coming at you, and you've got to get your work done, so you don't ever open yourself up to getting hit, and that way you can get some work done. (I'm noticing that this is a common phrase with me. Someone asked me about my biggest peeve the other day, and it was, "Guys who try to flirt with me when I'm trying to get work done." Ironically, I don't know that my work is ever done.) When everything's good, you kind of loosen up a little, but it's only with your closest friends that you're really you.
Which all sounds tremendously emo. I don't know how best to explain it. I'm happy enough, certainly. Working hard, always have a challenge in front of me, and friends to laugh with. It's good.
But I leave my comfy pajamas at home. Because if I got THAT comfortable, here, I might not be able to get that umbrella back up in time before going outside.
Anyway, I smell really good. Yum.
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