Overdramatic much? Perhaps. But it's the way I roll sometimes.

In Art History we studied an artist by the name of Pontorno. He was the Van Gough of his time (late Renaissance), since no one really liked him and he hardly sold any paintings. He is famous for his rejection of the laws of perspective, his preoccupation with capturing a sense of movement, and what really stands out is that all of his characters have these dark, haunted eyes set in sad, melancholy faces.

Since Venice Carnevale weekend I had been haunted by his dark sad eyes too. Carnevale basically was a tourist trap in Venice, and I had forgotten how much I had hated it last time I had been there 3 years ago. It hadn't changed much: it felt like the Disneyland of Italy. Jacquie and Nicole had hated it as well; it had rained, we had gotten into a major fight, and had had the worst pizza of our lives there.
Well it basically happened again, except it didn't rain, and there were more people. And this time the fight didn't get reconciled by an angel of mercy as it did last time. It lasted much longer, and it was a painful splintering of our triangle of "family" because M and I never fight. I could see him out of the corner of my eye all the time, as much as I tried to avoid it, his eyes dark and sad and angry and I was pale with kept in anger as well, not willing to outright yell. It cast an opressive cloud over everything we did, our movements twitchy and graceless.

But eventually the static built up like a nylon skirt rubbing against wool tights in the driest time of winter, so I sought him out and he yelled and I cried and then the poison was draining away and the serpent whispering in my ear had been banished to hell. It was stupid, we both agreed. We are both sorry. Then he said something that makes everything make more sense, and makes me sure that we will stay family no matter what. Dani came into the room, and we had a group hug, and sat in warm comfortable silence while watching a movie.

This is what he said:
You hate all souless Riverbenders, and I hate all dirty hipsters. Except we are the exceptions to one anothers rule. There will always be things that bother us, but we are family so we love each other even still.

one day a year you are allowed to be sappy...

Every time someone raises a single eyebrow,
I am reminded of you.
Except with them
I don't melt into a pile of giggles and blushes.

Stop it. I swear, I am over you.

Song for You

Elope with me Miss Private and we'll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl.
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping around on pagan holidays?
Oh, elope with me in private and we'll set something ablaze,
A trail for the devil to erase.

-Piazza, New York Catcher
Belle and Sebastian

Studying

I have this wild restless feeling that comes when the day is sunny and warm, and there is a cold wind blowing. There are no connections tying me to home, no connections to Italy, no connections to the ground. I could easily start screaming. My whole body longs to jump up from the table where I am studying and start to run.
Oh, studying. Sitting on a hard wooden bench, shoulders slumped over a computer or book, body temperature dropping from lack of movement until your hands are cold and clammy. Goosebumps and a deep bone chill, but with circles of sweat under your arms. Evenly distributed throughout the room are more poor souls like myself, heads down, ipods plugged in. Your eyeballs are dry, your brain fried. You are hungry, tired, thirsty. But it's my mind that hurts the most. I can't read another single word, yet I continue to try, the words bouncing off my retinas basically, brain matter unable to absorb anymore. IT IS SO DRY. WHY DO THEY USE SUCH BIG WORDS??? ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY?!
Facebook calls; you go and get a coffee. All of the sudden cleaning your room, the bathroom, the walls, anything seems more appealing than trying to make sense of and memorize dates/names/ideas.

At this moment, I would rather watch paint dry than still be sitting here. I would rather try to eat sawdust. I would rather wait for a pot of water to boil dry. I would rather watch golf, no, curling. I would rather move a hill of sand from one spot to another using only tweezers, or empty a well using an eyedropper.
Instead, I am staring at the dust motes illuminated in the ray of sunlight by my head, and imagining breathing all of that in.
Sigh.
Ok, back to the books.

The Hippies

Lounged in the sun on the stone steps this afternoon. Bought a sandwhich and brought my sister; we studied for a while. When the sun went behind the clouds and the temperature dropped, we started talking to the juggler and the harmonica player who had shared a can of corn on the steps below us.
They told us about their hitch hiking around Italy. They depended on people for food and for a couch to crash on.
We are living like, how do you say, Jack Kerouac. On the Road Again. said the harmonica player. Tonight we are staying at a Communist ladies house.
They were both going to school for Chinese language, Mandarin. That's almost as bad as my Classics degree. They looked cold, dirty, hungry.
For breakfast we had a big glass of milk each, then we climbed that mountain. The juggler pointed.
I stared. I longed to say Take me with you! I'm quitting school, and I will travel with you, depending on kind people. I could play the tambourine. You could teach me how to juggle. It will be fun. Let me go grab my back pack.
But I didn't. I have paid a lot of hard earned money to be here, to learn Italian and Art History. I need to stay still sometimes, in one place, to learn things in a classroom instead of through experiences. As much as every fibre in my body leaned towards moving forward with them, I chose to stay here. Maybe I am growing up.
We had to go soon. As we left, I said Here. Have an orange. and I offered them each a Clementine.
Thank you so much! This is wonderful! they said.
I smiled. You need your vitamins, I said. You should stay healthy. And I shook my finger at them, like a scolding mother. They laughed.
I laughed too, but inside I was sad and curious about what would happen to them. I wanted what happened to them to happen to me.
Maybe next time.

So, I think I will go live in a tree house in Olympos, Turkey, when I am done school in March.
Who knew things like this existed??
http://www.sabanpansion.com/index.php