Bombed: Christina Now with PICS

I'm not sure which is more exausting: the guilty quasi-employed do-nothing-days; waiting for emails, phone calls, letters; can't sleep cuz his side is empty; can't sleep cuz I hate waking up; hundreds of tuna fish sandwhich meals; insatiable DVD collecting; eyeball paralysis after reading for hours and hours; YES I'D LOVE TO GO acceptance to any and all invitations to pass the time as much as enjoy friends' company; darkness of the downstairs bathroom because I didn't know how to change that weird light's bulb; driving everywhere alone; constant assurance that I had the cell phone that hardly every rang; telling family that I still hadn't heard from him and knew nothing--
OR
The I can't sleep cuz he's right here and I want to look at him and touch him; loaves and fishes laundry piles; can't finish the dishes cuz he's tickling me; going places to show people he is indeed back; suddenly realizing I DO have stuff to do and not being able to accomplish anything because there are way better things to do, like watch him play computer games; and the overall realization that 2006 is finally frikken over and real life can go on.
Except real life isn't all kisses and vacation time. I know this in my brain, but it hasn't really kicked in yet. Because since February 7th real life has basically been kisses and vacation time. But that will end next week. The vacation time anyway...I hope the kisses stick around for a while... Long story short: there's no job to go back to and by this summer we'll be somewhere else in Germany. this could be good or bad. In true Army fashion: we don't know a blasted thing.
I'm tired most of the time. I force myself (or he does) out of bed at 8 and am good for nothing by 2 in the afternoon. It's like last time: Sam came home in March after being gone a year, I graduated, we got married, and then I sort of slept for 3 months straight. Only now I can't use graduating stress and wedding stress as excuses for my limpness. In my self-counseling moments I say it's recovery from the year plus of anxiety, and it very well may be. In my fantasy moments I suggest to myself that I might pregnant. More frequently though I tell myself it's because I need to exercise more and eat better.
I'm reading Bombshells--not just my own bit (which seems pretty stupid now that I'm reading everyone else's). I've been so excited about this: finally getting something published. Oddly enough, all that stuff the FRG guys tried to prepare me for, all that reintegration be-prepared-for-let-downs-and-depression, it-won't-be-like-you-expected stuff, hasn't applied so much to my soldier being home as it has to the essay. And if I had to choose, I'd rather it be a bunch of words than my marriage. Still I didn't expect it. it was so thrilling to see MY name on the Contents page with the real writers. I'm completely out of place with them--serious-writer-wise and in most cases, experience-wise. Aside from one scary phone call made after the fact, my biggest moment of fear was hearing a knock at the door, seeing the ACUed form of a single man holding a piece of paper, brain quickly processing one guy in ACUs, no Chaplain, Sam is hurt but still alive, only to have it be a guy Sam worked with telling me I'd gotten a speeding ticket.
While I guess I feel the "sisterhood" or whatever with the other women in the book, I am more humbled and honored to be heard with their voices than I am proud of myself for being heard. I'm proud to see Sam's name and Christopher's name among the others'. The brothers-