The countdown begins

One month from today, I fly from New York to LAX, a Saturday afternoon. And then I drive to my house in Altadena, and I see my dog and my kitty and the chickens; I hope they'll recognize me! Well, I'm not optimistic about the chickens, obviously, but Taffy and kitty I hope, I hope, I hope they'll know me! And I get to see the progress the Durans next door, who own a flower shop that's really a drug front, have made on their mountainside pool right in the middle of our vista. And then I'll walk into my room which I remember more clearly right now than I have been able to all year - in fact suddenly I can map out most of Pasadena and Altadena, and every single bit of my yard and house is crystal clear in my mind. Is that something that happens with time? I would think the opposite would happen. Che ne so. And I'll give my bookshelves a hug and put my suitcases on the floor to be unpacked over the course of the next three months, and then I will crash and sleep for 18 hours. Ah, sweet jetlag.

What am I going to do with myself?!? I'll be a mess at the airport, saying goodbye to everyone from SYA and just sobbing. I didn't cry much when I came to Italy, and I think that's because I didn't realize how long I'd be away and how much would change in my absence; also I was so eager to get away that I didn't stop to really say goodbye to everyone and everything. But now I have a better sense of what it's like to leave. Only this time I'm leaving for good. I won't ever live in Viterbo again. I might visit, I might even stay for a week or so, with my host mother or a friend; but I'll never live here again. Isn't that staggering? Every time I realize that Viterbo really is my home now I have to stop for a moment just to let it sink in again. I live here! As Emily would say, DOOD. But seriously, DUDE!

Gosh, I spent all evening getting some things in my room cleared up and starting to put stuff into boxes and my suitcase. Four more weeks, so I guess it's a little premature. But at the same time I have this unjustified fear that if I wait too long I won't have time to pack anything, or won't be able to think clearly enough, or something. Last minute mania. I'll probably repack 8 or 10 times anyway. And in three weeks I'll be freaking out something awful. Aw, jeez. Changes. Ch-ch-ch-changes... Just gonna have to be a different one. Time may change me, but I can't trace time.