Not Coming Home

Morning in Rome. It was hot before it started. We had little time to do much but eat breakfast in the hotel. No time for a visit to the rooftop terrace. just enough to have three cappuccinos, call Tara, read some of the news, and check out. I was still amazed that I paid so little for such a fancy hotel. The man at the desk still looked at me askance. I did not look any better or worse than the other guests, but perhaps he knew what I paid for the room ( I got an amazing deal) and did not approve. 

The walk to Termini seemed shorter than yesterday. I knew now how to buy our tickets using the machines, and decided that Maya was in fact between 6 and 12; on our way from Fiumicino on the 21st, I paid full fare for her. The station was busy with travelers, and I was relieved that this time our train was right in front of me. Usually, one has to walk all the way to the right and ten minutes further, and I have missed trains to the airport that way. It was also incredibly hot at 9:52 in the morning. The conductor did not question Maya not paying full fare (whew!) and we were at the airport in good time. I think that airport trains are constantly on time. Once at the airport, we had to catch a bus to a new terminal (or at least I don't remember being at this terminal before), but all went smoothly.

While waiting for our plane to board, I became restless and anxious. I guess that is what happens when vacation ends and reality starts to percolate into the haze of relaxation. I have actually been feeling guilty these last few days. Talking to Eric has been painful. He is suffering while I am enjoying Italy. Whatever my justification for a vacation may have been, now I struggle with the reasons I left Eric these past three weeks to deal with the stress of finishing up the house. I felt so overwhelmed the six weeks that he was in Wood's Hole, going through piles of paper and clothes and so much junk I did not know what to do with. I was so proud of myself when I showed him my progress when he came home. It seemed fine to leave him to work while I played, but now it does not feel right at all. We should have struggled through this together, not apart, not the six weeks that I was alone, and not the three weeks that he was alone. We have been apart ten weeks, and that is too long for a couple. 

....the flight was easy, but long. I watched crummy movies and read a bit, ate every two three hours, and survived the nine hour flight. Landing at JFK was long and arduous, changing runways halfway through our descent, landing roughly on a short runway, waiting an hour for a gate, taxiing forever. The good news is that I sailed through customs easily, our bags arrived, we had time for dinner and recharging our devices, and we boarded our tiny commuter plane on time. I listened to messages, and tried to prepare for my twelve hour days ahead.

Eric had taken the train from Newark to meet us and bring us home. He had made some progress on the house but was nowhere near ready....of course I was prepared for that. I decided not to stress and to prepare for not being ready to rent on Monday, and leaving the house unfinished. I could not blame Eric, who left everything to the last minute, and me, who ran away from the final preparations to go. Oh well, we are both responsible for this.