I keep telling her, insisting really that I’m fine. That my tour of duty in Mazar-i-Sharif was nothing. Boring. And that my biggest challenge was keeping the sand from coating my gun and gritty sheets. She’s not buying it. Last week I got a job working on a high rise. I’m the nail gun guy. Pay is good. It’s great to be part of a unit again. But the first day I parked my finger around the trigger, heard the explosion, the burst of air propelling the nail into the sheetrock, my hand started shaking. It hasn’t stopped. Makes drinking coffee more challenging. But I’m learning to live with it.