It's strange being back "home," in a place I never truly considered my home, so soon after my last visit. Part of that sensation results from the fact that I would never be in Maryland this much unless the circumstances were extreme. But there's another mechanism at work under my consciousness. Driving back from Greenbelt tonight on 193, after eating dinner in the plaza where I'd drive every week in eleventh and twelfth grade to buy record albums -- anyone remember K-Tel? -- with the lunch money I didn't spend on lunch, I felt long-dormant synapses flicker to life. Even if the intersections have changed and many stretches of highway bear no resemblance to their appearance in the 1980s, I still remembered the duration of the journey, the way the subtle curves announced themselves in my torso, what it felt like to sit at the light for 450 and think, "I could just drive to Annapolis," as a way of distracting myself from the less pleasant reality ahead of me.