See, my body is inhabited by two people: my American self and my Italian self. When the days in one place start to wind down, the lines blur and I can't tell who's who. (That sounds like a barrel full of crazy, I know, but other expats can relate.) You're suddenly in limbo like those babies in Renaissance paintings.
But here's what happens: I get to the airport and it's all sad and I probably dramatically cry a few tears in the check-in line and look around to see if anyone's watching and wondering, "oh, that poor girl..!" and then as soon as I go through security and sit down at the gate with my go-to airport food (peanut m&m's) I'm suddenly psyched to be my other self again.
So, while I still have two days left, I'm going to grab on with two hands tightly to the present. And that means breathing in this clean, suburban air, eating my weight in things I can't get in Barletta, and cherishing these last moments of being my American self. (At least until next July.)