"your eyes are like stars - you know, the kind that go supernova and kill baby planets"

The roads are too big.

That was my first thought on getting into our grey Toyota Tundra outside the Atlanta airport. The car is too big and the roads are too big and what happened to all of the cobblestones?

Yes, a little prick of fear as my mother pulled out onto highway traffic, eastbound on 283. There are a lot of other big cars rushing along with us.

And what, the roadsigns are all in English? And the menu at Arby's? What? Why so much, why so many?

"Vorrei" I start to say to the woman behind the cash register, then I swallow it. Because I'm in America now and I should order my food in English: "A jamocha shake, please." Please, not per favore.

I stood in the airport at the Lufthansa desk, wanting really badly to reclaim my gigantic purple suitcases (even though I hate dealing with the awkward weight of them) so that I could pass through customs and meet Mom. Unfortunately, I learned, my suitcases remained on German soil. Poor suitcases, sitting in a dirty terminal corner somewhere in Frankfurt. All of my possessions, everything I owned for a whole semester, everything I acquired for four months. Somehow I'm leaving this semester even more stripped down, slimmed out and streamlined than I started.

Today we had pork chops for lunch. Pork chops, baked potatoes (unlike the Italians my mother does believe in sour cream), mint tea, salad-with-real-salad-dressing, whoopie pies, fruit salad (I miss succo di ananas). I watched myself eat this feast from behind and a little bit above.

I'm not sure if this floating thing is related to jetlag-exhaustion or readjustment or both, but a little bit of me is standing off a ways in constant surprise at where I am (constantly surprised that I remember how to do this) wanting to use its hard-won Italian.

They say that we're having a drought. The south always seemed superabundant to me, too much, too green, too hot. If this is a drought then a normal summer would be a jungle, because still where I look there's green, there's vegetation over everything, the sky is monolithic blue. I gathered up my courage this morning, though, and drove to church. I'd forgotten completely that one stretch of road - even though we're in drought it's a verdant unbroken arch across the black road.

I remember. I like driving.

I know that when I left I missed the internet a lot. I missed the constant ready entertainment and communication it provided.

Yesterday, I declined to use the internet.