I figured this might happen, but not ever at such an odd time. I literally ache sometimes thinking about my experience abroad, and how much I truly miss some places and people. It makes me want to roll around in cliches, about how really unique a time it was, how I might never have some of those feelings again, etc etc. Half the experience going abroad is what happens months afterwards, when it's all faded and Evanston again, and suddenly you get the most vivid flashbacks of Italy, strawberry gilato and cigarettes. Or snowy bus trips through Danish countryside, rambling conversations and wet jackets. Geez, I may never get over this whole restlessness thing.