For those friends of mine who have often wondered what I do all day or have confided (I am well aware that this word is synonymous with gossiped) with our mutual friends that I do nothing but run around sampling cioccolato caldo or sit at cafes all day, with a cappuccino in one hand and Camus in the other (puhlease, I prefer Murakami but have recently found Wifi and Gawker.com go just as well with my cafe), I have decided that at this exact moment I will reveal as close to everything about my life as I possibly can. We all know that will be hard for me as I am prone to omitting a few, often key details. (i.e. I once didn't mention a boyfriend for approximately 9 months.)
I wake up just like the rest of you. Just not when there is a number 7 in the time display. FLaw #1: the number 7 should only be used in regard to minutes or early evening. Mornings mean sunshine, not darkness. I like to wake up with sun on my eyes, and then have a café latte. In fact, I like to make my own. It’s cheaper than buying one down at Fabio’s cafe, and it quells any domestic urges I have been known to have. Nothing more irritating that cleaning sticky, burnt milk. Wait, cleaning my house is more irritating. So is a hair on my contact lens or unrequited love. Morning segue- I promptly avoid my computer and the dishes, and leash up the pup for a walk around the ‘hood, sometimes further if I have “errands”.
The Hood: Via di Panico, an appropriately named street for the random acts of shouting that I have heard or participated in.
Favorite Catcalls of 2005
1. Americane Stupide, Siamo Australiane: Charlotte trying to park a BMW station wagon on the sidewalk that is 3 feet wide. Charlotte is Australian, so I was annoyed for her at the mistake.
2. Tiziannnnnno: Riccardo, owner of the bar Giulio Passami L’Olio, nearly every other morning calling at his son, out the window and two blocks down the street.
3. Apri!! Mi fai aprire!! Che stai facendo?!!: An evening favorite. A and anyone else trying to get my attention when I pretend I am not home, but they hear my unique-ring cell phone coming from out of my 1st floor window (Fl 2 to non-Italians) as said-pursuer calls as well.
As we walk around Ponte (my rione), I wonder why no one in my neighborhood has yet protested the lack of trashcans (zilch on Panico, zilch on Banco di Santo Spirito, zilch Governo Vecchio, possibly one on Coronari towards Piazza Lancelloti) since everyone seems to have a dog. Once I carried a doggy-bag for two, both Drexall and Bella, for 10 minutes in the rain until I took shelter in a church, wondering what the hell I was going to do with it. The neighborhood is already protesting the traffic and noise resulting from the beautification/restoration that's going on, you would think that they would protest the city’s complete omission of trashcans from this area. It is clearly a case of the extreme right or left trying to oppress us.
The answer is obvious as Bella does her morning routine: No one really cares about shit.
Okay, walk done, Bella satisfied. Now is when my day begins. My job is to lock myself into my house and work on one of five things:
1. book of fiction (that seems to be going no where)
2. Copenhagen text for the next Little Black Book
3. pitches for potential articles that will be rejected
4. short story for my writers group
5. either blog
*I know I said five, but on occasion, I write speeches which take precedent over the other five
I usually cannot do any of them. I stress, I worry, I read gossip websites. But I keep trying. The objective is to write, so I feel that any writing is good writing, except when it sucks, right? I’ve also realized that a dial-up can be beneficial and detrimental to my writing process.
Advantage: I can’t using the internet as a method to avoid writing because surfing takes too long.
Disadvantage: I can use the delayed process as a means to avoid writing.
Whether or not this gets resolved depends on the day. Tuesday, for example, I actually had a deadline for an article www.theamericanmag.com and found myself reading Freaky Deaky (Elmore Leonard) in the bathtub, purchasing strong cleaning solvents and then scouring, scrubbing and vacuuming my ENTIRE house until 8 pm. I finished the article at approximately midnight that evening, high on ACE.
Today, trying to trick myself, I made an appointment with Chiostro del Bramante, free Wifi connection with the purchase of a café. The wifi was down, actually “blocked” by some large looming unknown force. I was able to effortless write, while my computer connected and disconnected with the unknown force.
Evenings come and I am about to begin training for a 5k, Race for the Cure, May 21st. Again, this requires some mental manipulation, latest being having “the right music” to get my ass in gear. I am taking suggestions.
To end the evening, sometimes A and I go out to dinner at restaurants that offer his wine. I find this annoying as it seems that all the restaurants I like and want to try don’t have it. Our evening follows a pattern:
A: Fra quanto sei pronta? (How long will you be ready?)
Moi: Un’ora (an hour)
A: Vabbe’, mo, arrivo (okay, I’m coming, like now.)
Moi: Non sono pronta. (I’m not ready)
A: Vabbe’, vengo fra un mezz’ora (okay, I’ll come in a half-hour)
Moi: Vabbe, devi aspettare. (fine, you’ll have to wait)
A: Non sei pronta? (you’re not ready?)
Moi: No. Vede la partita. (nope, watch the soccer game for a bit)
A: Ok. Ci vediamo fra un’ora. (Ok, see you in an hour)
15 minutes pass. Citofono (downstairs bell) rings. I don't answer as I type this.
.... mi fai aprire……
FYI- This is in real time.