I step out of the shower, get dressed and walk outside, my hair soaking wet, and walk fifty feet to the dumpster. I throw out my trash, walk back to my CHU (Containerized Housing Unit aka trailer) and run my hands through my hair, which is now dry and brittle with dust.
I sit on my bed. I can't tell if it is the air conditioning or aircrafts landing nearby that shake the room.
I just moved into a new place, so that I now share my bathroom with another female. I look at the bags on the floor, wondering what is the purpose of putting books on the shelf and clothes on the hanger. This space is not my home, just a temporary shell and I have no desire to put lipstick on the pig. My one decoration is a worn Oregon map that I hang up on the wall just do I can put my finger on those great green areas and follow the river towards the mountains. "Um get over it," jokes one soldier after spying my map, but I am not hopelessly pining away for home. I am simply paying homage to the places that have brought me true happiness.
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