unemployment: day #1

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic considering that I still teach 4 classes. Yet, the fact is I have been working 6 day weeks for so long that this free time is a bit much. Normally, my Thursdays would find me at the bookstore until 1, grab a bite to eat on the way to the train station, teach, then off to the London School for my individual classes in the evening. It had gotten to the point where around Tuesday I was already dreading Thursday.

But not today. My bookstore job ended a week earlier! They expected me to be upset, but at what? Time, luxury, sleep, eating healthy food? No, not me. Money is not important at this point in my stay here. (Well, sure the $203 would have helped.) But time and pleasure rule my day. So today, on this hot hot hot Thursday, I was on the back of an electric scooter on my way to the post office in order to prepare the first box of shipping stuff home. Wind up my skirt and bare legged to the world. Much better than work. Work is sooo last Thursday. Today I can cook, do laundry, clean house, ramble through memorabilia, you know — the good work. 

But for the rest of you: buon lavoro!

PS Not sure if it will open in the states, but if you get a chance, go see Gomorrah. It’s based on Roberto Saviano’s book detailing the Napoleon mob. Disturbing, yes. But depicts a picture of modern day Italy I think everyone should at least be aware of (the evils of the fashion industry, illegal dumping, drugs, etc). And it really does stand as a microcosm for all the corrupt political and social structures world wide. A stellar film. (and the author plays a character in it.)

—Unfortunately (or fortunately) living without a television has me sensitized to violence and the sound of gunfire is foreign to me now. So a good bit of the movie I was a bit jumpy and would occasionally close my eyes.

The white space after a white night

Saturday was Notte Bianca in Florence, which coincides with the summer solstice (and Luigi’s namesday). It also was one of Samantha’s last nights here. A bit tired after work, we all meet at Lexie and Umberto’s for a great pasta dinner and then some prosecco strolling with the masses, music, and nuns with guns (very funny street performers/ merrymakers). It was a good night, but Sam and I left the group early to catch a bus and to sleep. The bus never came, but after a taxi ride I finally did sleep.

And now she is gone. Well, I’m meeting her at the train station today for a “last sip” of coffee before she heads to Rome. But her bags and her person are no longer here. So once more, here I am in this big white space. Breathing in the reflective mood while looking forward to my last month here. There is the promise of some travel and adventure, surely some celebration of my new friendships, and maybe even a bit of planning for what’s next (I must be getting old if I think I know what’s next). It will be busy, emotional, beautiful.

Unfortunately, probably a few tears will appear. But they are dumb, short-sighted tears. They are tears that do not grasp the potential of space and time. These silly tears have boundaries and are limited. Boundaries and limitations, two things I would rather live without. I’ll remind myself of that.

In the meantime, so much, so little whiteness. What will I do with it all—with all of this nothing? With all of this everything? I have a few good ideas . . .

loosing weight

And so, here we have it.

Deciding to go home (again) has spun me into a dizzy emotional carnival ride. I’ve been told I am “quitting the country” and most days this does feel like breaking up with a place. I listen to the advice of my mother “take it one month at a time” and my friends “you can always return” and my boyfriend “you need more than being another working poor of Italy” and know that they are wise.

Unfortunately, they do not have to think about packing.

And having been here on and off for almost 3 years, I have a lot to pack.

Envisioning all of the tokens of my life here, lined up on the spare bed with my suitcase open, I immediately feel sick. Not just sick, full. After Thanksgiving dinner full. Eating a kebab and drinking a beer full. Dark chocolate and potato chips at 3 a.m. full. I want to vomit.

And that desire has lead me here to this working Saturday with a bit of clarity and some regret (regret being the ugliest word in the English language). I have to loose weight. Not just physically, though that would help, but all of my items are weighing me down with their importance (real or imagined). So I have to let it go. And not just them, all of the little things I haven’t and will not get to. I want to let them all go. Book ideas, sets of sheets, fantastic novels, travel plans, beauty products, little stones gathered here and there, tacky jewelry, market bought clothes, chance encounters, familiarity afar, tolling bells — I just need to let them go. Because the memories and the friendships and the honest connections I’ve made with this place and most of all the bizarrely beautiful love that I’ve found, well that is more than I need.

And for once, I’m going to trust my memory and life to keep giving the good stuff back to me.

Weekend Road-tripping

Impulse will take you places. Last week I had an unexpected few days off and Cinque Terre beckoned. Initially, we were going to check out a restaurant but when the weather turned nice, Luigi and I opted for my first visit to Genoa.There was a pit stop at a neat place over looking the sea in between. We found ginger and rum drinks and some of the preppy and bit too chatty clientele. But the view was great and the music was Ben Harper, so we hung out on the edge and in between so-to-speak.

Genoa found us at after midnight and the hotel situation was a bit scarce. There was another bar open and this time the locals seemed an appropriate blend of entertaining. The bar, was 28 Erbe and open late. Genoa seems more vibrant at night than Florence. To me it was great, but one of the ladies at the bar compared it to an Octopus that grabs you and never lets you go. I guess home towns have that effect on everyone.

The next day we went to the Museum of Asian Art which is housed in a nice modern building in a little green forest on a hill that overlooks the city. Walking and riding the bus and looking for information took most of our time but we found some great graffiti, working girls, cafes, and a bustling busy place.

On the way back we stopped in Cinque Terre again to check on hotels for a longer stay in July. I mean really, we were working, not playing — or as one would say “evaluating, considerating*, and calculating.” When you look at t that way, you realize one’s work is never done.

Click this link for pictures.

*Please note that only a non-native speaker of the English language would say considerating.