Second to the right and then straight on til morning.

Classes at Belmont. Long... work oriented... homeworked. Who thought of the concept of homework? is what I want to know. I want to go back to Compiti (Italian for homework). Just this week, I have a book to get read so I can write a Reception study on it, a really stupid food class to read about and for which I must complete something by the abbreviation "CP" (I don't know what it stands for and frankly don't care to find out), three chapters to read about the legend of Arthur, at least 20 line studies to do for a book series entitle, "Let's Dance," a paper to write (which I am of course doing on Italy), and then two articles and three biblical readings. Wow. Surprisingly it looks a little better when I write it out like that.

School is my best excuse for why I've been neglecting updates, though I can also blame my want of a new heading for the next chapter of the blog - not to say that living isn't an awfully big adventure when you're not in Italy, but still. The point is, I am returning to this place after being gone for quite a while, and I'm not in Italy anymore. It was good; it was perfect; but it's over.

In the words of the Wendy-bird, "We must leave at once... before we, in turn, are forgotten."

the ordinary things.

I keep trying to remember things that happened to me over the past four months and somehow the only things I can think of clearly are tiny things.

I can remember walking down my street or sitting on the steps of Santa Croce watching the sun go down. I can remember my cafe and the market. I can remember what it felt like to walk by a massive piece of renaissance architecture - the way it makes you feel like your floating. But I can't remember all these things together. The whole thing is in pieces, like it happened a long time ago. I can remember things, but I have yet to refeel them.

Coming home is a strange phenomenon.

My window now overlooks a power line and a gray brick house. I can sit here and see my neighbors walking their dogs, the mailman pull up the road, a lady with a cat. These are the ordinary things. I drive in a car. I call up my friends. I stay up until 3am talking to my roommate. I watch primetime tv and eat lean cuisine. My suitcases are stuck way back in my closet and will likely remain untouched for months. My passport is somewhere safe and out of reach. My money exists only in dollars. I have to buy all my groceries at a supermarket with an english name like kroger or harris teeter and there are aisles and aisles of preserved food with which to stock my massive refrigerator. I don't dress according to the weather, but according to where I am going. I miss Italy and wine and cappuccino.