Akaky Akakyovich (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} admiralbunny) wrote,@ 2005-03-10 16:36:00 |
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The world that I used to know, people tell me it don't turn no more
I have been very sick for the past three or four days. I don’t remember exactly how long, because I’ve been coughing and sleeping for that time. Eric has taken very good care of me, driving me out to the doctor in a snowstorm (while not feeling well himself), making me lunch, organizing my medicine schedule, turning on the shower (and making sure the heat is on in the bathroom!) He did make me go out with him on Sunday night, while I was starting to feel crappy, and he made me help him empty the dishwasher. Humpf. Dr. Tedesco diagnosed bronchitis and prescribed steroids (for my throat that was so inflamed I couldn’t swallow) and antibiotics. I’m feeling a hundred times better but I’m still all woozy and not used to being out of bed in the bright, bright sunlight. It’s sort of like taking a weak hit of acid before coming to work; my fingers don’t type right, everything is wavery and doesn’t matter very much. And my brain feels like it’s melting out of my nose.
They were talking about terrorist websites on the radio today after announcing that Kofi Annan said that a nuclear attack by terrorists is very possible. A couple of years ago I would never have believed that report, but now it is so sadly real.
The day I moved to Bologna
1. I had to awkwardly ask my landlady’s girlfriend to give me a lift to the train station, since my bag was huge and I had no idea about taxis, and it was raining. I awkwardly hugged her when she dropped me off (people don’t hug in Italy, they kiss on the cheek) and invited her and Giuse to visit me there. Why would they?
a. My memories of her and Giuse include one night I came home after they had had a dinner party, and the kitchen was dark in candlelight and Barbara (I can’t believe I remember her name!) was sitting on Giuse’s lap, even though before they had tried to hide everything from G.’s senile mother. It must have been such a difficult relationship.
b. When I first arrived in Arezzo, a random guy I met outside of the hostel where I had stayed drove my jet-lagged ass over to Giuse’s apt. They both thought I was totally crazy.
2. It was still drizzling when I got to Bologna, and I had to wait until my landpeople got home before I could go to the apartment. I was shackled by this huge bag (why didn’t I just store it in one of the lockers?) and so I squatted on it outside the station, by a payphone, watching the mostly north African travelers come and go in taxis and buses. Instead of calling the people I just waited until the agreed-upon time and took a cab; when I arrived, they exclaimed – why hadn’t I just called? They’d been home for hours!
3. Reading “The Leaning Tower,” by Katherine Anne Porter, has brought back to me all the awkward, self-questioning, uncertainty, dignity-sucking ugliness that becomes a part of the ex-pat resident in a new land with confusing culture, stays with them, and translates into anger and discrimination towards the country’s residents.
I have been very sick for the past three or four days. I don’t remember exactly how long, because I’ve been coughing and sleeping for that time. Eric has taken very good care of me, driving me out to the doctor in a snowstorm (while not feeling well himself), making me lunch, organizing my medicine schedule, turning on the shower (and making sure the heat is on in the bathroom!) He did make me go out with him on Sunday night, while I was starting to feel crappy, and he made me help him empty the dishwasher. Humpf. Dr. Tedesco diagnosed bronchitis and prescribed steroids (for my throat that was so inflamed I couldn’t swallow) and antibiotics. I’m feeling a hundred times better but I’m still all woozy and not used to being out of bed in the bright, bright sunlight. It’s sort of like taking a weak hit of acid before coming to work; my fingers don’t type right, everything is wavery and doesn’t matter very much. And my brain feels like it’s melting out of my nose.
They were talking about terrorist websites on the radio today after announcing that Kofi Annan said that a nuclear attack by terrorists is very possible. A couple of years ago I would never have believed that report, but now it is so sadly real.
The day I moved to Bologna
1. I had to awkwardly ask my landlady’s girlfriend to give me a lift to the train station, since my bag was huge and I had no idea about taxis, and it was raining. I awkwardly hugged her when she dropped me off (people don’t hug in Italy, they kiss on the cheek) and invited her and Giuse to visit me there. Why would they?
a. My memories of her and Giuse include one night I came home after they had had a dinner party, and the kitchen was dark in candlelight and Barbara (I can’t believe I remember her name!) was sitting on Giuse’s lap, even though before they had tried to hide everything from G.’s senile mother. It must have been such a difficult relationship.
b. When I first arrived in Arezzo, a random guy I met outside of the hostel where I had stayed drove my jet-lagged ass over to Giuse’s apt. They both thought I was totally crazy.
2. It was still drizzling when I got to Bologna, and I had to wait until my landpeople got home before I could go to the apartment. I was shackled by this huge bag (why didn’t I just store it in one of the lockers?) and so I squatted on it outside the station, by a payphone, watching the mostly north African travelers come and go in taxis and buses. Instead of calling the people I just waited until the agreed-upon time and took a cab; when I arrived, they exclaimed – why hadn’t I just called? They’d been home for hours!
3. Reading “The Leaning Tower,” by Katherine Anne Porter, has brought back to me all the awkward, self-questioning, uncertainty, dignity-sucking ugliness that becomes a part of the ex-pat resident in a new land with confusing culture, stays with them, and translates into anger and discrimination towards the country’s residents.
