I signed the papers today. Me and the missus. Our first house. A fixer-upper, they called it. The real estate agent, she kept saying it had “good bones” and “character.” I just saw a whole lot of peeling paint and a plumbing system that looked like it belonged in a museum. And a backyard that’s basically a jungle. But my wife, she had this light in her eyes, you know? Like she was seeing something completely different. A dream, I guess. It’s not a big deal, but I felt… nothing. Just the scratch of the pen on the document, the faint smell of stale coffee in the office, and the oppressive silence of a civilian transaction. Not the adrenaline of a live wire, not the rush of a close call, just… this. And honestly, it’s not really the house that’s the problem. It’s us. Well, it’s me. I can change a flat tire, sure. I can follow instructions. But a whole house? We’ve got zero skills. No DIY gurus here. My dad, he could build anything with his bare hands. Me? I spent my twenties learning how to dismantle and reassemble automatic weapons in the desert. How to hold formation under fire. Not how to patch drywall or rewire a kitchen. I keep thinking about the money. Every penny we scraped together, every extra shift, gone. Just… poof. Into this gaping maw of a mortgage and a house that needs everything. We’re pouring everything into it, and I’m terrified we’re just gonna screw it up. End up with half-finished rooms, leaky pipes, and a giant financial albatross around our necks. What then? This is stupid, but I keep having these flashes. Like I’m back there, in the sand, watching something crumble around me. The feeling of absolute helplessness. And it’s the same feeling now, staring at these plans my wife drew up, all these little squares and arrows for where the new walls are going to be. It’s not just bricks and mortar. It’s… everything. And I’m just numb. We shook hands with the real estate agent, and I just wanted to go back to base, to the predictable routine, the clear orders. At least then, if something went wrong, I knew what to do. Here, I’m just… adrift. My wife, she’s so excited. She bought a book about interior design. Me? I’m just counting the days until we have to pick up a hammer. And I just know, in my gut, it’s going to be a disaster. A slow-motion, expensive disaster.