Oh, the INSANITY

First, I must explain that, contrary to my previous post, I am normally closer to the sane side of the scale than the INsane. Or so I hope. But truly, I was just so unbelievably happy and relieved I had no other option than to declare to the world, in all caps, that my friend was COMING HOME.

ha HA! coming HOME! yipPEE!

Small problem: When I went back to his email when I got home, I realized I had only slightly misread it. I distinctly remember him telling me that he was IN Kuwait and was waiting on transport to the States. I went back to read it after I got off work because I had to confirm that those oh-so-wonderful words had actually been writen by the hand of my friend and I felt this overwhelming need to drink in his every word and nuance in the few short lines he got to send me in the 5 minutes he had been allotted for computer time. And then it dawned on me what he said.

He was waiting on transport to KUWAIT to meet the rest of his brigade who were, in turn, waiting for transport for the STATES. He and a few others had "volunteered" for one last "MISSION" and everything "went well" and now they were coming home.

First of all. I will be the very first person to beat the living daylights out of this child for "volunteering" for anything more intensive than getting his commander coffee. But alas, this is Matt. He wrote me an email once where he indicated how "bored" he'd become with driving the tanks around, so had volunteered for the gunner position. You know. The one where the soldier's head and torso are ever-so-visible to the local insurgents and (ahem) quite accessible to stray, or intended, bullets, explosives and the like. Not normally one for dislays of emotion (I have been known to stay dry-eyed during "My Girl") I near about lost my damn mind because of actuall SOBBING. Dry heaving SOBBING. My brain matter nigh came out of my nose. And when I emailed him back indicating he was not to scare a poor emotional female in such a manner, his response was that I didn't want him to die of heat stroke, did I? It was just so HOT inside the tank and he never got enough WATER and boo FUCKING HOO. I told him to keep his notorious ass INSIDE the hulking metal vehicle which was DESIGNED to keep his ass from being blown into miniscule or, God Forbid, recognizable PIECES. My instructions were obviously not observed.

But it is of no concern of mine any longer. As of right now, he should be in Kuwait. And within two days, God willing, he will be HOME. HOME HOME HOME. Granted, it's quite devastating that for the first time in 9 years we do not live in the same town, much less the same vicinity and I will not be able to attend his homecoming. But I know my limits. His wife deserves this time more than I. As much as I may begrudge her this status (seeing him first, not being his wife. ew), I know it's true. It may be several months before either of us can make a 9-hour trip to visit. But I'll be able to hear his voice and confirm that it's HIM and he's HOME and he's no longer in a place where your statistical chances of living through the night are far, far worse than even the roughest neighborhood in New York could boast. And I should know as I have mistakenly ended up in the aforementioned areas more than once after dark in my previous life in The City.

Okay. I am done. I am happy. HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY. I would never be so trite as to say that my faith is restored because that would imply that my faith has been LACKING or in LIMBO since his departure. Quite the contrary. Though I can say, without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, that my faith has currently swelled into the most beautiful, floating, close-to-bursting balloon that is full of utter gratefulness that Someone found a need for him, his soul and body, to remain on this Earth.

God Bless.