This year has been chopped up into lots of pieces, none of them longer than three months, and I've spent all of those pieces (except the first one, because I had no idea what was going to hit me) counting down until they were done. Three months on evacuation. Three months in Cairo. Six weeks on home leave. Two months until Joseph came. And seven weeks until Baku.
Moving around and waiting around have warped my sense of time. A year ago, six months felt like something just around the corner. Now six months is an absolute eternity, three enough to really settle down and call somewhere home, and two and a half weeks a really good long stretch, long enough to not even think about packing. Or pack out.
I'm not sure what I'll do with myself when we move to Baku and I have two whole years stretching out endlessly before me with nothing but a couple of R&Rs to break up the monotony. I'll have to take up some sort of hobby. Maybe base jumping?