Home; and being Ready.

I'm actually WAY too tired to be writing an entry right now, but daggnabbit, if I don't, I'm not sure when I will...  I am so pooped!  Packing up what feels like a bit too many clothes for the next 9 months and fitting more into one day than is probably healthy... preparing, preparing, preparing.
As you may or may not know, the IRS and I have been at fisticuffs (how do you spell fisticuffs?) for the last... well... for years now.  I was taken severe advantage of and am now paying the price on more levels than is appropriate, but that enemy... he comes to steal, kill, and destroy, and boy has he had a lot of practice.  He's pretty good at it.  But not good enough to take what isn't his... my hope.  My trust.  My knowledge that he is actually the loser and I, by ordinance, am the winner.  Halla!!!  Now if I could only convince the IRS... anyhoo... I had a couple of claims for justice to be served and they have officially denied me.  I truly hoped this would all be cleared up and resolved before I left for school, but now, on top of the intensive course I am getting ready to step into I have to continue a battle with enemies greater than myself in the spiritual and physical realm.  Good times.  If you haven't caught on yet... I hate to be the one to inform you that we absolutely live in a world at War.  There is no retreat.  We must arm ourselves.  (John Eldredge, Waking the Dead)
I am sitting in the room I grew up in.  The room I came home to as a baby and left when I was 18.  The room I hid chewed up bubble gum on the inside wall of the closet at age 5, when I wasn't supposed to have it.  This is where I played w/ my barbies and had sleep overs. Here is where I have done most of my wondering and primping.  These walls have witnessed my madness, my sadness, and everything in between.  I have come 'home' after each traumatic event in my life, and after rejuvenation, headed out into the world for the next round.
I left at 18, and came home at 22.  I left at 24, and came home at 30.  I left at 33 and came home at 40. Don't think that didn't hurt.  How grateful I am for this home.  For the Mother who has allowed me to return, whether she lived here or not...my Brother who has allowed me to return, we always did make great roommates.  My only earthly possessions packed up in the garage, simplified, and condensed.
Looking at my 'pack stack' and things yet to do, I am ready.  Ready for the dorm, ready to share a bathroom with strangers that will soon be family.  I'm ready for hours of homework and reports, sunsets and quiet time.  I'm ready.  I'm tired...but I'm ready.  Remind me I said that in a few months ;)