I'm lying in bed in Houston, about to fall asleep. It is well past 1 in the morning, and there is no net draped over me. I am free to dangle my limbs over the edge of the mattress if I want. Buzzing around above my head in the shape of a figure eight is a mosquito. That drone, the incessant high pitched drone that represents the M-word in Tanzania, malaria, does not scare me here in America. I am back in the first world, and I don't give a shit if there's a mosquito in my room or not.

This is the best part about being home. I AM NOT SCARED OF MOSQUITOES. BRING 'EM ON.

Especially now that the Astros are no longer playing, this liberation from fear is the highlight of being back.

When I was traveling through Ethiopia, if I was in a hotel room without a net (as was the case about 90 percent of the time), I couldn't go to sleep without stuffing up the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. Thank you, hot dog suit.

For 14 months of my life, the droning noise I'm hearing right now would have sent shudders up my spine. I wouldn't have been able to go to bed without first tucking in my mosquito net, and tying knots in it to plug up the holes.

I even used to call mosquitoes "the enemy."

Those words mean "The mosquito is dead."

Now, I say bring it on. I ain't skeered. Bring it on, mosquitoes!