The Looong Commute

My son and I are getting on each other's nerves now.
Which isn't surprising really when you think we've spent the last three months together almost non-stop.
Which is hard for a mother and her 24-year-old son who's been away at college for the past five years, no matter how much you love each other. Which we do. A lot.
Neither of us have had enough of a life on our own, or space, to get away to. We worked together. We commuted together.
And you quickly revert into old parent-child roles, which both people want desperately to break free of. But can't.
Throw Italy on top of that now, and watch out.
Italy can get you down. As all real Italians (and even this fake one) know very well.
As soon as you have to do anything beyond having dinner. (Thank you Tania, my Roman reader, for your comment yesterday about Italia Telecom. It feels so good to be understood.)
Yesterday, we drove to the place where his internship is in Rome.
It took forever. We took a wrong exit, we think. The traffic pattern made it almost impossible to turn around anywhere. We couldn't find the place for ages.
Then we had an argument. As you do when you get frustrated and don't know how to get out of it. Took it out on each other.
Made me feel so bad. Made him feel so bad.
Because we're both trying as hard as we can -- and we both know that.
I honestly don't see how he's going to live here and drive in there every day.
It took us about an hour and a half to get home. Without any wrong turns. And minimal traffic.
And it's going to cost him almost half of what he'll make to pay for the commute. Which seems stupid.
And then after the hour and a half drive home, he'll be here on the side of the hill in a little Italian town by himself.
With no Internet?
Don't see it.
Don't think he sees it either, but is afraid to say.
An old American friend of mine who lives around here told me last night that her similarly-aged daughter is looking to move to Rome with friends now. It's just too far to come all the time. And her mother is worried about her doing the long drive several times a week, often late at night.
Italian drivers are insane. You all know that, right?
Anyway, my son and I will push on today.
We'll both dust ourselves off and start over.
Apologize. Hug.
Because we love each other.
And we both know the other one is trying.
And that it's a hard thing we're doing.
We've got to do some administrative stuff to get him ready for the job, which involves Italian offices (god help us).
But first, I gotta get this house in some sort of working order again.
Get the TV fixed.
Do something about our Internet connection.
Get a new toaster.
Since the one I bought this summer has already crapped out.