Excerpts from my diary during my travel home

On the plane! Finally!

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Oh good god. I just had a bit of a break down at the Delta baggage check-in center. It involved CRYING. In public. I couldn't even cry when I left my host family, but I cried at a baggage check-in. In my defense che successo was truly horrendous.

So it went down something like this: The American exchange students arrive at JFK. We go through customs, collect our baggage, and split up, going our various ways. Three of us are flying on the same airline, so we stick together. JFK is crazy busy, and it takes us a while to fight through the crowds of people, hauling our luggage from one terminal to another until we finally reach the Delta ticketing and check in center. We're separated in line, each checking in our 50 lb limit luggage. They had multiple, overstuffed bags that completely exceeded the limit, but I didn't have the money to pay the fee, so I made sure my single bag was 49.9 lb exactly (I spent all of my savings and allowance on gifts before I left, and then what little pocket money I had leftover I spent on food during our layover in Germany). So, I get to the desk, ready to get the process over with. They weigh the bag, and sure enough, it's less than 50 lb. So far so good. Until the woman tells me it'll be 50$. Apparently, they changed their rule about one free checked back in October, a month after I flew with them last. I had no idea, and have no cash, aside from two euros fifty, which isn't even valid currency in the states. I search through my bags for two full minutes, flustered, before I finally find my wallet hiding in a side pocket. The agent is being patient, but I've clearly been holding up the line. I produce my visa, apologize profusely for taking so long, and pray it will work. Even though it's a debit card, it has credit, so it should pay the fee even though I only left 13$ in my account, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong. She looks up from the register, and whispers in a voice full of pity, "Denied."

This is the point when I completely lose all sense, and begin to uncontrollably sob. I can't even work up the strength to fight off the tears.

Four reasons why I had said miniature public breakdown:

1) I'm very, very tired. (Laik, rly tired. Stanchissima.) As in, last night all the exchange students decided to get drunk instead of get rest for one final hurrah. It was a blast, but I didn't make up for it on the plane, since I only briefly napped. This means that I ended up sleeping un massimo of 5 hours in a three day period, as I stayed up late packing on my last night home, and woke up early. So, yeah. Exhaustion doesn't even cover it.

2) I already miss Martina. And the family. It sucks, and thinking about it makes me want to cry.

3) Pain. The blisters on my hands from carrying around my duffel bag are excruciating, and they are constantly being agitated because I have to carry the heavy thing everywhere. I have sore muscles all over. Plus, ho fame e sto mangiando solo la schifezza.

4) Embarrassment at my impoverished state, and at my stupidity for spending everything when I should have had safety money set aside.

So anyway, even though a logical Stephanie would have gone to her friends and asked to borrow some money, this Stephanie chooses to stand at the check-in center and bawl, mumbling incomprehensibly as she tries to take back her luggage, which I can't do because the blisters on my hands make it too difficult to grip the baggage. The girl behind the counter stops me as I'm making this attempt, however, slapping on a tag and sending the bag on it's way down the conveyor belt. "It's on us," she tells me, eyes full of sympathy. I'm mortified. I manage a thank you through my continuous tears and hurry out of line, pushing my duffle with my foot. I look ridiculous, and have to explain to the other students why I'm crying. It's awful, awful, awful.

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The other girls already caught their planes, and now I'm sitting in a terminal, waiting. One of them carried my duffle for me most of the way here because I literally couldn't, it was so painful. 

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I'm falling asleep.

In an airport terminal.

My plane is late.

The languages around me are mixing together.

Sing, sing, sleep.

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I WANT TO GO TO SLEEP PLEASE!

Non c'e una differenza fra inglese e italiano mentre sto dormendo.

Oh, and I smell bad. Una puzza di sweat, e e' schifo!

My eyes, they're closing mentre aspettando.

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Sono le 7:40 PM.

I'm going home. HOME. This is a concept I'm not sure I--

HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY HAPPY SAD TRISTE TIRED JOY DEPRESSING HAPPY I MISS MARTINA

(My feelings on the matter)

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I'm feeling rather weak right now. Physically di meno. Non lo so. Forse e' perche' sono emotionally drained by the past few days.

God. I just calculated. I've spent the past 42 hours traveling. No wonder I'm delusional.

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About to land in Arizona. About to land!