Update: I'd hate to be a provincial governor in southern Iraq. Here's why.

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When Edmund, Lucy and the rest of the crew stumbled out of the magic wardrobe after a decade in Narnia, only seconds had gone by in the real world. It was the Narnia effect. For whatever reason, the same thing happens here, too.

Everyone I talk to who has spent any significant amount of time in Iraq says they feel much older than what their birth certificate would indicate. The bureau chief, Leila, is 26, technically. But we've joked around about how one year in Iraq counts as five years in real life... so she's really pushing her mid-30s.

On my embed last week, I spoke with a 23-year-old sniper who was serving his second tour. "I don't feel like I'm 23," he told me. "I feel like I'm 35." Living in a war zone does that to you, I guess.

As for me? I can relate. It just dawned on me a couple days ago that I've been here for almost three weeks, but it feels like three months. I don't know how to explain it, but at some point you suddenly feel like you've lived your whole life in Iraq and the rest of the world becomes a distant memory -- a place you're sure you once were part of but don't think you'll ever see again. Too sappy? Maybe. Yet true.

I told an NPR reporter I met the other day that in some bizarre, paradoxical way, I'm counting down the days until I go home and yet at the same time I'm thankful to be here and enjoying the adventure. "It's kind of confusing," I told him. But he wasn't confused. "I know what you mean," he said.