I realized on Wednesday of last week that if I don't go to a European country that has a beach for at least a week, I may just die. Not really, but internally I may go a little cuckoo. The last time I went to Italy was the summer before I began my senior year of college, and the escape from reality, from work, technology, real life-- not only put me back on track but left me with a sense of calm and the feeling that I was ready to take on the world when I returned home. Right now the weekends fly by far too fast to get anything but errands in and the weeks fly by so quickly that very few hours of sleep are possible. All I keep thinking of is the beach, the warmth of the Italian sun, wiping sand off of my legs, and the feeling that I, yet again, cannot believe where I am.