Just in case any of you feel like I’m living a perfect life over here, there are a few things you should know (among them being there is no such thing as perfection). First, I hate my mattress. It’s not that I don’t like it, it is just that I have finally encountered an entity for which I can find no redeeming factor and I think that it should die a slow, agonizing mattress death. It feels like I am sleeping on stones and it creaks if I so much as move a pinky toe. Apparently, this is normal here. Rented apartments are notorious for having bad beds and couches (I’m not even going to mention the couch!) So most of my nights I spend, tossing, turning, cursing, contemplating throwing the whole contraption out the window, etc. And my complaints have earned me the nickname of “the princess and the pea.”
And then there are the trees. Or lack of them. There are none. None. Well, if you go across the Arno there are some. But on my side of the river, Florence is a city of stone. And I love trees. Trees are the ambassadors of Tallahassee (and a lot of other places in the South). So please, all of you, go out and breathe in the pines; observe the daytime night garb of Spanish moss in live oak, the grass, the gaudy greenery of it all. Then go sleep on what I hope is an inviting bed, nustle into the soft down of your dreams and love where you are at.