Leaving Florence

I don't know how much time I have since my computer is about to die so, I'll try and make this quick.

I dream in Italian. I wake up and it feels like it's just another cold day at home. I think, "I'll wake up Lupe and we'll go get some breakfast at Jam and then maybe hit the comic store" before I realize that those place are thousands of miles away from here. Is it just because I'm homesick that this happens? Maybe it's the fact that there are enough Americans here in Florence that it's easy to get confused. Or is it because, deep down, I'm feeling more at home than ever?

That last one scares me a little.

I have such great friends at home who are just as excited to see me return as I am to see them when I get back. I have a job that kinda kicks ass and a willingness to see what sort of future awaits me now that my wife is no longer burdened with school. Heck, I might even go back for myself. I don't want to give those things up.

But Italy is...

Well, Italy is not home. It lacks the frustrations that come with being in a country whose head is so far up its own ass it can't see a war it's been in for almost 10 years now. It didn't blink when that war went from one enemy to another without so much as a sigh. It refuses to teach its young or venerate its old. It continues to believe that it is the most important thing in the room. It suffers from the "disease" of obesity yet can't feed the homeless. And still, despite all evidence to the contrary, it believes itself better than everyone else.

Oh, I know... Italy isn't perfect. It, like the whole world, has its fair share of problems and social injustices and poverty and imperfections. I am not naive enough to believe otherwise. And I'm not saying I want to be here more than I want to be home because, dammit, I miss Jam breakfast more than anything right now. But, things don't look so hot from where I'm sitting. If nothing else, we could be doing so much more than we are now. Then again, the only interaction I have with the outside world is through the internets: a place that remains a constant black hole of intelligence and morality. So maybe my judgment isn't the most rationally objective.

(p.s., Arguing on facebook is for lame-os. Do yourself a favor and stop feeding the trolls. Just sayin'.)


I do know this: Italy has been wonderful so far. In my mind, I'm already trying to figure out a way to get back here as soon as possible. Already, I'm wondering if I can take "Italian" for my '2 years of foreign language requirement' at school. Already, I'm deciding out of those same previously aforementioned friends which ones I want to bring over here to visit (psst! Don't worry... you are definitely in the running).

We leave Florence tomorrow to train it to Rome where I am going to have a heart attack at all the sites we want to see. I have already had a taste with Michelangelo's "David" and such amazing paintings as "The Birth of Venus" and the "Primavera". Those are experiences that no book or picture can prepare you for and that my meager words cannot, no matter how hard I try, describe. There comes a point when art transcends words. Seeing the works of masters such as I have seen is beyond verbosity.

I must be on my way. I still have to pack. March will go quicker than I imagine and April is quickly approaching as well. Soon, Portland will be on the horizon and friends long since seen will be embraced once more. And god damn if I won't get that Jam breakfast the first thing when I get back to Southeast Hawthorne and 22nd.

Ciao!

-d@n