la corsa..

I'm drinking the worst peach iced tea that I've ever tasted in my life. It's some sort of generic brand of "Crystal Light" but dear Lord...it's absolutely horrible.

I should be doing a lot of things right now. I should be reading " Il Gattopardo," or perhaps getting through my endlessly long Italian grammar book that I promised myself I would finish before term starts in August. I should give my dog a bath, I should do some dusting around the house, and I certainly should be studying. Should I say studying once more?


Instead, I'm here. I am waiting for news to come via mail, or via phone. I've been waiting for so long, and the wait never seems to get any shorter. It's just one setback after another. I hardly expect to hear any news. Everyday I do my thing, and while it's always in the back of my mind, I don't get my hopes up anymore.

Sometimes I feel like, as a woman who was adopted, I can never fully "grow up." When in search of information about myself that others take completely for granted,I am treated almost as a common criminal. Proof of identity, therapy sessions to gauge my readiness, months and months of waiting for this bureaucratic nightmare to end. Both adult parties are willing and ready to meet- why am I constantly being infantilized?


I know that this isn't true. Confidentiality issues and waiting are a part of the world. I'm just tired of having to constantly prove myself in an attempt to know myself. I'm not a child. I'm not stupid. I deserve (dare I say it?) to know the truth , the whole truth and nothing but the truth- about myself..


These things all go through my mind until reality seeps in and I realize that this is how the government works, and that these blockades are put into force in an attempt to reduce problems later on. I know this. I accept it and have no real problem playing by the rules. The wait is just torture. It's long. but I have hope that it won't be fruitless.


In other news- I'm happy with my life as it is. I'm dieing for classes to start, excited about the potential of getting some color this summer, and generally happy with my relationships, familial and otherwise.


There's only one thing missing...and hopefully it will come soon enough.

WOOP!

I have experienced a miracle. I got the call a few days ago, telling me that J wanted to not only tal kthrough letters and phone calls, but that she wanted to MEET ME. IN PERSON. My J wants to meet me. I cannot believe it. I am on cloud nine. Dare I hope for the best?
Things had been stagnant for WEEKS. ALl of a sudden, as if by magic, I got the best news I could hope for. Now, all J and I need to do is get a 1 hour therapy session to prove that we are emotionally ready to know eachother, and then we will finally be given eachother's contact information!

Tomorrow I am going to go to my appointment, and then promptly afterwards I will be attending mass at 5:00 at St. Patricks in Manhattan. God has heard my prayers. For me there is no more explanation than that.

I can hardly believe that after all these months of waiting this will finally happen for me. I hope that this will finally be the peace I've been waiting for. I hope that I can be the person that J needs, that she has longed for.

Tomorrow I will go to Mass, and I will say a silent thankyou for all the things, past and present, that have brought me to this moment, and all that will follow.

Adesso che sei dovunque sei

I've been waiting what seems like a lifetime. Sometimes the entire institution makes me want to pull my hair out! I sent "J" the letter a few months back, along with all of my identifying information. I did all the work that needed to be done and so the wait begun! Now of course, months later, I'm finally starting to get fed up.

I want to meet her- she want's to meet me? I'm a little confused by what she wants at this point- as I must admit the secrecy surrounding this whole deal is making me nutty. We're both consenting adults... and I wish this was easier and faster. That's the bottom line, I guess. Just faster.

I'm stalking the mailman and constantly manning my cellphone and house phone. I doubt she'll contact me by email but I even check THAT constantly....

Come on time..let's go a little faster..

The dam becomes a river..

I cannot imagine what it is like to not be adopted. Living and being a part of a biological family is something I will never know.

I cannot imagine not growing up in New York, not speaking Italian, not loving opera and having the family I have. I can’t imagine having different parents, different friends, a different accent, or different experiences. I can’t imagine living a life different from the one I am.

The reality that I almost did is astonishing and disturbing to me.

I do not like being adopted. This makes me unpopular. I know that being adopted changed everything. I know that the outcome would have been very different had I remained with my biological family. Of course, I can only speculate- but I am almost positive that I am better off where I am. Everyone tells me this. I believe it. I know it.

Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?

I want to grow out of these feelings. My whole life, I assumed that adoption would become less and less important to me as I grew older. As a child it was important because I was curious. I thought that by the time I hit this age I would have already worked through all of my feelings.

The thing about adoption is that you never get over it. I tried having contact with my biological family, and I tried not having contact. I’ve tried therapy, I’ve tried journaling, crying, rejoicing, praying, and I’ve tried pretending it doesn’t exist. Nothing I do is giving me that magic sense of peace. Sometimes I feel happy- I feel blessed because of my wonderful family, and blessed that my birthparents had the sense not to attempt to raise me. Other days I feel this loss- this ambiguous feeling of sadness. I don’t so much grieve my biological family- because logically I know that being separated from them was the best thing that has ever happened to me.

That is what makes me sad. How can I even say that? I am ashamed. I care very deeply for my birthfather- how can I say that I am better off without him? I am embarrassed even as I type the words. The knowledge that the worst thing that has ever happened to me was simultaneously the best is absolutely the most mind-fucking emotion there is.

I try to escape my pain with rationalization. I have an amazing life. I really, really do. 6 out of 7 days a week-adoption does not cross my mind. I am out and about- living my life and loving my family and friends and traveling and taking my dog for walks. I will do almost anything to escape my loss.

I will rationalize and rationalize until I arrive at moments like this when my emotions overpower my intellect.

I feel stupid for feeling this way. I feel unappreciative and neglectful. I feel like being sad over this makes me less of a person- less deserving of respect. I feel like I need to just shut up and be grateful and love what I have. I feel like I am grieving nothing.

My life is amazing. I love my family. I love my city , my dog, my house, my friends, my bed my school my everything. Why isn’t that enough for me?


The realization that this loss I feel will never go away is only beginning to dawn on me. With all this joy in my life- who am I to not be joyful?

I'm tired of this song and dance.

I’ve been searching for a solution- groping in the dark for some sort of resolution in all this bullshit. Even after I “gave up” officially- the fight never stopped in my own mind- in my own life. I never stopped caring or longing or wishing or regretting. I’ve never stopped bouncing the ideas around in my mind- what could I have done? What should I have done? What did I do to make this all go awry?

I am just sad now. Sad and angry. I couldn’t tell you what the percentages of those emotions would be. Perhaps…80% despondent and 20% irate? Who knows? I certainly couldn’t put a number on it- but God knows I’d like to.

I want to pack adoption up neatly. I want it to be some event in my past. I no longer want to “be adopted”- I want to “have been adopted.” I don’t want it to define me anymore, in any sense of the word. Not that it ever has, of course. Not for other people. My parents do not see me as their adopted daughter. My friends do not see me as their adopted friend. I am not an adopted sister to my brother, not really. Though technically, I’ll always have that label, it does not define who I am to anyone else but myself. My grandparents do not see me and say “ ah yes, Amanda. Our adopted granddaughter.” Only I place this label onto myself. I’m the one who can’t shake it.

I hate the feelings I’ve developed for the people who brought me into this world. They make me feel so skeevy. I hate being angry, and I hate hating. I will never love my sister. Not ever. I can’t…imagine it. I can’t fathom looking into her eyes and liking what I see. She does not care for me. She has rejected me- and that’s not something I can just shake off. I don’t care if she’s troubled/has had a bad life/is sad/is angry. I don’t care that she rejected me because she has learned to reject other people before they can reject her. I don’t care what the reason is. This is my goddamn blog, and although no one reads it (thank god!) I promised that I’d be nothing but honest about my own inner workings while writing. And even though I know saying this pretty much buys me a one-way ticket to hell- I despise that girl. More than I’ve ever despised anyone- and I’ve met some pretty crummy people. This hatred, this intense dislike that is brewing in my brain, does no one any good. It doesn’t make me feel any better. It only embarrasses me- I am ashamed that the Amanda who felt empathy has left- never to return. I am ashamed because I wanted it so desperately- and my weakness has been taken advantage of by someone who can smell it from a mile away. I am sad because I want to love her. So badly. I am ashamed because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to agan.

And so I’m left grappling. What do I do? I stopped contacting them for a reason- and I never want to forget that. I didn’t one day decide to remove them from my life on a whim. I didn’t make that decision in a hurry. I thought about it, agonized about it even, and when the time came to make that phone call I thought I my heart would fall out of my chest. I’ve never had a “cry” feel that good. To hang up the phone- and realize that I had made a decision for myself- was absolutely intoxicating. To cry so thoroughly and loudly- to really grieve, was so freeing. To let that sadness just pour out of me was so cleansing- so amazing. But then of course, after the water works finished- I was left wondering, “what’s next?”

I am hoping, praying even, that the next few months will give me clarity and maturity. I am hoping that something will change. A lot of things are going to change in the next few months for me. I hope that my intense feelings, that are predominantly negative, will evaporate into the air around me. I want to be clearheaded- and make decisions based on logic rather than emotion. Irrationality annoys the shit out of me. I’ve become my own pet peeve.

Houston..we have contact.

I got the call at 10 this morning. I slept with both phones next to my bed. I had a restless sleep- the kind you have when you are eagerly waiting for something- the kind you have when you are sleeping only so the next day will come.


I am on cloud nine, even though I know this will not be an easy journey.

I have one wish:

I want her to look back on this day years from now- and be happy that she met me.


above your deep and dreamless sleep- another star lights up the sky.

Being an infant or a bird

I want this so badly that it almost hurts. I need this. I need this to mean something. Every second of my life has brought me to this moment. Every breathe has brought me to this instant.

I am one person's mistake, another's best decision. I am one man's pain, another's joy.

I am a sibling to many but a sister to none.

I am secret and I am a granddaughter.

I am a daughter but a friend, a am both spontaneous and meticulously planned.

I am everything and I am nothing at the same time.

I have always known what I am. I have always been told, always been reminded. I want everything to mean something. I don't like useless pain. I don't like wasted emotions. And I REALLY don't like poor decisions. The choices they've made, the choices I've made, could all make perfect sense. I long to find someone in this mess- just one person- who makes me feel as if it has all been worth it. These past 10 years- I need to know that they haven't been in vain. Sure I know a bunch of shit that I wouldn't have had I not made the decision to reunite- but mere facts do not make up for the gaping holes that I had so desperately try to plug up. It has been worth it, in a purely informational sense, but I admit that even after years of having contact with my biological family, that part of me feels empty. Part of me knows that nothing can ever be fixed. And that is the part of me that decided to search for Stephanie, my biological sister who was adopted a few years before I was. That was the part of me that searched through all of my old records, read the ridiculous story of my past. That was the part of me that went to the bank to get everything notarized, and the part of me that has waited by the phone for weeks.

Tomorrow could be a good day, or a very bad day. This is my final attempt. Tomorrow I will have some sort of answer. Something will have moved. Something will have changed. I am prepared for a rejection- I've had it so many times before. I am hoping to find something new -something beautiful- coursing through my veins. I am hoping beyond hope and praying to no end that I can look into the face of someone whose blood I share and see love in their eyes. I am tired of seeing anger, jealousy, shame, and guilt. I want to see a face, even if it is not like my own, and know that we have a connection. I want to feel it. If it is not there, I want to build it. I will do the work-I've always been willing to- if only someone was willing to work with me.

I did it with D and E, and D and G, and C and M and EVERYONE. I tried and I tried. I want someone to try for me. I want these past years to have led me here. I've traveled this road, and I want to find something at the end of it. I am not looking for a pot of gold- a few specks of bronze will do. Anything shiny enough to mirror my intentions- and the love I could have for these people, if only they would let me.

I never could see, but I'd do it all again.

How I will rise up from the waters where I've drowned.You will know me,you will see- your face will light up from the glory that it's found



I am doing that thing again,denying some parts and accepting others- the rationalization that often accompanies loss. You don't want anything to do with me? Good. I don't want you either. It's a little pathetic,really. Mostly because I can pinpoint exactly what I'm doing. There's no shame in the action, merely the inability to stop. My inability to stop.

If the current project doesn't work out, I'll resign myself to it. I'll fade into the background, the woodwork, or wherever it is that people in my situation fade off into. I've already begun the process, of course, but nothing has been finalized. I can't very well write off everyone, because some people have been nothing but steady, nothing but good. Those who are supposed to be the most deranged end up being the most pristine of all. Opportunity cannot make up for heart, so it would seem, but I think I knew that anyway.

I am casually hopeful- I wait for the phone to ring, for the mail to come, for the "you got mail" voice to signal on my computer. I assume that everyone is as eager as I am, but of course that's not the case. I've seen that first hand.

I'm tired of being told that I've lost. In one side's longing to be important, they refuse to be labeled insignificant. It's sad because it's utterly predictable. Sometimes I want to remind them that the majority of them are just bitter. Very few people or situations can make you so something that you don't want to do. Some people are just victims of circumstance, but that sure isn't everybody. I'm tired of being pressured to feel as if I'M unfeeling because I refuse to accept excuses. Anyone can make excuses- it's not difficult. But not everyone can accept responsibility. That's the hard part. I'm tired of this institution being a breeding ground for rationalization.

I have lost, yes. But I have gained as well. I've gained so much more.The gains can't make up for the losses. Unfortunately, nothing can. Nor would I want it to. I stand firmly where I am, sure of my decisions, and accepting every consequence as quietly as I can. I don't want to collapse- crumbling as I have been these past few months. This is my one last ditch effort at a connection- and finding someone who is a part of me who is lacking in crazy. If I fail, I'll pack up these boxes- tape up these cartons and haul them away. Andiamo avanti, as they say. I'll absolutely do so.

you sing into the night now... just sing on for me

Being notarized is perhaps the biggest pain in the ass ever. I did it, though, in the vain hope that it would be worth it. I want so badly for this to mean something. A door as been closed, and I’m hoping that this is the window that will open.

I hope that she’ll want to meet me-that she’ll be interested in my life and how our lives intertwine. I want to share everything that I’ve learned about our common past with her, I want to encourage her, show her, and help her understand. Perhaps most selfishly, I want to warn her. Things in our past can get pretty freaking ugly, and I want to save someone else the same pain that I’ve experienced.

On that note, I’ve already decided that I will not share any information with anyone else. It may sound selfish- but I’ve done all the work. I’ve made all the phone calls, notarized all the papers, and made all the effort. I am not feeling especially charitable towards anyone right now. I’m tired of letting people walk all over me- and this step has been a positive one in taking control of the situation. I’ve never fully felt a lot of this experience. I’ve tried burying it- it didn’t work. I tried placating myself with contact- that REALLY didn’t work. Unless of course, she asks me to, in which case I will only do so after having thoroughly thought it over. I don’t want to be associated with any of them, (except Mandi, who is absolutely not a problem at all.) I don’t want to be associated with craziness. I don’t want to be a member of that family. I want to be appreciate for exactly what and who I am, and respected for what I have to offer. I would love a friendship, and I am waiting now for a reply.

I am prepared for a rejection. Sometimes, when I think back on my initial contact, I wish I would have known the things I know now. I like to think that I would have run screaming, but I know I wouldn’t have. At least I could have been warned, been prepared. I wish I could have someone who I saw myself in, but who did not embody all of the things I am afraid to become.

How long does the postal system take, anyway?

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke,dear,I was mistaken. Please don't take my sunshine away.


Sometimes it all comes crashing down upon me. The silliest things can set me off. I watched an episode of "Cold Case" earlier this evening, and it was so sad. Just absoklutely so sad. And all of a sudden, I realized what I had done. Just like I've realized it at random moments the past few months. I don't know how long it's been. Perhaps three months? Maybe even longer. I don't recall exactly. I'm afraid that by the time I get back to them, it's going to be too late.

I constantly try and tell myself that I did what was best for me, that they didn't really matter. I have to be sure that they are not important, because if they are, then I have lost more than I could ever have imagined. If biology matters, then I need them, and I have made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Another part of me is angry. Angry that I feel such dedication to them, or such a strong feeling that I should be dedicated to them. They were never dedicated to me, were they? Nope. I want to think so, but I just can't wrap my head around it. GAH

I am so sorry. I am standing my ground now because I feel I should, because I feel obligated to make it as if my decision was completely right. I can't back down, because that means I am indecisive. It isn't enough to just change my mind. It isn't enough. It can never be enough.

I miss them a little bit. Sometimes a lot. Choices, choices. I always preach about choices, and how we should consider the consequences. I guess that applies to me too. Which is why I feel so strongly that I can't go back on this. I want them to want me. I never gave much thought to the fact that I might want them.

let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear

I've noticed that my entries have a tendency to revolve around a common theme. Perhaps it’s because I don’t feel comfortable expressing myself so openly in other places. I have so many outlets- so many safe and understanding outlets, yet it’s sometimes easier to just…write. Sometimes I think people get sick of hearing me bounce around the same ideas in my head over and over. A lot of the things make perfect sense to everyone around me, but I fail to really understand them.

I’ve been feeling a lot of guilt. A whole lot. Perhaps disproportionately so, but either way I can’t seem to stop these feelings of pure culpability. Sometimes I feel vindicated, free and powerful for the steps I’ve taken in my life towards feeling better about my biological situation. Other days I feel like the most selfish bitch on the face of the earth. How could I have made it all about me? I must be a real witch to hurt other people to save myself, save my feelings. It’s not really that I feel unworthy, or that I feel that I am evil. It’s more that I doubt my true intentions. I know that I felt hurt, rejected. This is definitely true. But… what if I did it for the wrong reasons? What if, because I was experiencing feelings of rejection similar to those surrounding my past, I decided to reject them before they could reject me? What sort of fucking psycho would that make me? I know people who do things like this, and I really would prefer not to be one of them. What if, in my sensitivity, I pushed people away who loved me? I know that I’ve destroyed everything we spent 8 years creating. I know that all of it is ruined now, but I can’t seem to truly regret it. I feel guilty, sure, and I question my motives, but I wouldn’t go back and change it and that scares me. The presence of empathy with an absence of the desire to regress makes me uneasy. I suppose you can’t truly regret something unless you would go back and change it. I don’t regret it. I just feel sorry about it, because it’s a sorry situation. I’m sorry that I couldn’t fix things, and perhaps that’s where this guilt is coming from. I failed to repair what had been inexplicably ruined. I couldn’t make it better, and I couldn’t convince myself that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t handle it. Some people say I should have to handle such bullshit, and I know that’s probably true. But where do you draw the line? When should I deal with something just to save someone else’s feelings? When do my needs outweigh someone else’s?

There are the days of silence...

I think it's a little too late for me to go back. By telling D that I didn't want a relationship, I'm stuck in my decision. I wouldn't change it. No. I wouldn't crawl back to them like the piece of slime I feel I am. Nothing will have changed by then, and it would be ridiculous of me to go back and try and work things about because not only will it not work, I will have lost all credibility.

No, I have to stick to my guns, no matter how it hurts. Still...I can't help but think that I could have prevented this somehow. I could have done something, said something. What could I have missed? There's definitely some guilt here, as if I owed them something. I've been conditioned to think that I owe them indefinitely, for life or whatever. But I don't really believe that. My presence took out of their lives for a little while, and their chosen absence from my life took away from me(regardless of all the gains.) I think we are about even. Thanks for my life, and your welcome for those two years of peace you got before your next daughter was born. End of story, right?


I hope he never calls me. On some levels I want him to because I want to be wanted because I have never felt it from them. You can talk about self sacrificing love and selflessness until the cows come home but no one will be able to convince me fully that you can leave someone because you love them. I understand all the logistics behind it, and I can understand selflessness... but I just don't quite buy it. We do what we have to do when it serves us best. At the end of the day, we all look out first and foremost for ourselves. This rule of nature is supposed to be eradicated with parenthood but I don't believe that it is. Selfishness in this respect is easy to cover up, to hide, to excuse. Irresponsibility cloaked with good intentions is still irresponsibility. I don't place any blame, because it WAS for the best. Thank God I am who I am and my family is my family. I do not regret it, but the ends do not justify the means. Because my life worked out beautifully we can all rest on our laurels and preach about good decisions and best interests. My life is good because of the people who raised me, not because of the people who chose not too. Their loss is definitely felt, but blood is not everything and I have to remember that.

I know that I have to focus on school and my family and my friends and my life. I have so much going for me and I know that I should be thankful and I am... but I suppose on some level I still feel badly for how things ended. I guess only time will make that go away, but I sure wish it would speed up a little bit. I don't see any situation where I would ever need them again. I have all of the information I need, and I don't see a time in my life where I would be able to subject myself to a relationship. If E changes, that's one thing, but if she doesn't (I have a distinct feeling that she won't) when could I ever be mature/callous enough to not care about how she hates me? I just don't see that happening, and on some levels it makes me very sad.

I do know one thing though: we all make our decisions. D and C made theirs, D's parent make theirs, E made hers and I finally had the courage to make my own. We make our decisions and then we live with them.

There- absolved of all guilt. These next few months are going to take me farther and farther away from all this craziness. Time can't pass fast enough.

And if you sing this lullaby..

I am going crazy in this little room. The more I try to ignore it the more I fuck up.I am forever guilty and at fault.

The air is finally getting warm . It is 3AM, and I wish I could stay awake until 5:30 so I could go outside and listen to the birds as they wake up. When I was little and woke up at ungodly hours of the morning, I would go into the living room and look out my living room window and listen to the silence of the house. I could hear, outside in the trees beside the house, the birds chirping and singing to the dawn. The sky was mostly dark, but just as I would begin to drift off to sleep with my head on the back of the couch, the sky would turn pink. The trees, black against the tangerine and coral of the sky behind them, were still and the grass was slick with dew and everything smelled like rain.

I would run off the school bus into my fathers arms, and my mother would make salad and pesto for dinner. I'd collect little bugs and try and save the frogs we found outside my hot tub. I had an orange hippopotamus and my mom's green apron and my dad's large rings that he got when he graduated from college. I had opera while I took a bath and played with my lion figurines in the water. I listened to Billy Joel cassette tapes and watched the fish in the fish tank swim as I fell asleep.

Now I have 100 different places and things. I am school I am an apartment in New York I am Pennsylvania I am nowhere. I wear a lot of bracelets and rings and my hair is too short and my eyes never a distinguishable color. I am dirty fish tanks and stupid memoirs and different languages. I am never what I am. I am soy milk and white dogs and windowsills with the paint peeling off . I am arugula and rabbits with people names . I am not the very blood that runs through my veins but am powerless to change it.

I am blond and I am light and I am nobody's but everyone's at the same time. I am not wanted, I was but then I wasn't and then I was and then I was again. Now you can't have me and it's all your fault even though I don't believe that. I long to be my own and my children's, but I have not found them yet. I have questions and I am sailing on an emerald bay. I am never far away. I am not weak and I do not hide every two weeks and I am not afraid. I long to have a place to crawl back to.


I love you and you and you and you. You are great with the ducks, and you with the fish. I should love you both but I cannot do so freely and without regret, and I should be in love and I should be angry but I cannot find the strength to be one or the other.

I know that once I am seen I lose my appeal.

ahhh weariness.

There has never been a simpler way out. Spring break is fast approaching and I could never be more ready. I long to just blend into the familiar smells and noises and comfort of my home. Really, though, I just want to make a new home or go back to the old one, whenever it existed.


I'm embarrassed because I still can't shake it. I try to and I don't think about it but nothing helps. I tell myself that it doesn't matter and I guess on some level it doesn't. Then again at the same time it matters a whole lot and why can't I just fucking get over this bullshit.

I've sort of gotten used to the idea that I am going to need some sort of period, perhaps some sort of mourning period, to sort all of this shit out. I knew that I was going to need it but I've been so crazed with school that I haven't allowed myself to indulge.

Things have gotten easier just as I knew that they would but it doesn't seem to matter because nothing matters.

I'm tired and sleep deprived but I'm still almost happy. It's strange because I shouldn't be but I am.

I have no idea where I am going to school next year but that's okay . I tell myself that it's okay.


Nicolo Piovani makes me happy.

Light.

I have finally found the perfect solution. I think. In theory, it should work. I will put one in a situation where an ultimatum is necessary. And who doesnt love the ultimatem?Who doesn't love the opprotunity to truly spill it, tell it like it is? I know that, personally, I need this. Only the next few days will tell how we proceed. I am ready for whatever comes next. I think I am ready for whatever comes next.

Ecco, facciamo cosi'. Magari.

Amongst dogs and christmas shopping and tinsel and large trees and lights and suitcases and coral nail polish and chicken parmegano..lies my inability to make any decisions.

Send or don't send.

I have to think, but thinking get's me nowhere. I simply want to exist. In the midst of my empty, albeit productive day, is uncertainty and dread. All I am able to see is that it will never make me happy. I can't string together sentences.

The christmas tree is too big. The star is crunched against the ceiling, bended painfully,


Praise the odd, serendipitous world.

secondo mè "Back to life" hanno deciso di suonarlo in paradiso..

I haven't written in while, and I must admit that I found a strange pleasure in the fact that this blog is so fucking old, and never changes. The colors .. I mean. The layout. I've kept it the same for all of these years. It's refreshing that some things remain the same, even if they're only in cyberspace.

I checked to see if my sister was still a bitch the other day. I suspected she would be, and was not disappointed. She twisted the knife, so we say, and I'm not entirely certain that I'll be going back for more. A broken family, I am told. But where do I even fit in? Am I included? I've been taught so long that I have not been broken from one family, but joined into another. Dare I consider the other point of view? I despise her. If only because she represents everything ugly in myself. All of my negative feelings surrounding the issue are ...manifested in her little body. I am overcome with hatred . I am livid. I am on fire. And for what? Fuck them. If only I could say it, do it, act on it.

" GO TO HELL" I want to say " Thanks a lot guys, but you've done your part." . Could I be like tigger and say " ta-ta forever?" Leave them behind, and continue on. Not all of us have the option to opt out.

Even within less dramatic scopes, I find myself unable to let go. I have to stop writing letters ,calling, etc. Why do I bother? Why am I such a fucking pussy?


I want something profoundly different. But what? I want to go away, far away, and forget all of this shit. Form new memories so the old can wither and die on their own. No euthanasia necessary. I want fields and new languages and sunsets and old stone buildings, laced with moss and glazed with moisture. I want history and music and quiet. I want the city; smog filled air with people-filled streets. Lights, smells , and honking horns. Over boiled coffee and cigarettes. Everything is so romanticized, and sexualized. Who can sort through it all?



I want you two to split. I want you to ripen. And I want myself to shrink and grow.

Witchcraft anyone?

Nothing.

The smell of cherry reminds me of so many things. None of which I particularly feel like listing , or discussing in any great detail. My hands are soft in New Hampshire. What will this next year bring forth I wonder? So many things could happen, so many things could go wrong or go right. Who am I to presume which will be what?

I am tired of being how I am. Go , go , go , go , go!

Something that isn't there.

I want so many things and yet I do not want any of them. I love Chester, and I love its people and I love my new friends. It is surprising to me, which with all this love floating around, that I am so utterly and strangely …unsettled. Not even that. I am pleased and content where I am, but I know that this sense of security will never last long.
I must organize my life. December I will be in Italy. I must keep my wits about me. That’s all I can say. Why do I always expect the worst? I miss Daniela and I want to go see her in Bolivia. I have the time, and the money, and I certainly have the desire. But is it going to be beneficial? Or am I going to pick open a scab that has just recently crusted over. Gross.

I want to learn Spanish. Next summer I want to go to Guatemala for a month or so to…immerse myself. This also involves money. I’m not afraid.

Oh yeah, and this blog is shit. I never say anything interesting. Even that sentence was monotonous.
I start tomorrow.

writing to no one

I missed you today.
Seeing the damage you've done to others fills me with sadness ,but also an inexplicable relief that I have been spared. From you, essentially. Does that hurt your feelings?

Maybe I am feeling this way towards you because I am currently in the process of grieving other things. Picking up the pieces, finding myself, collecting and processing past moments and turning them into memories. How beautiful this is, the creation of memory. It's what we are left with when god takens something away, or so I read somewhere once. We nurture these memories, we dance with them.

The pillow you gave me is losing its scent. It smelled of really strong lavander, but now I find that I have to bury my nose in it to detect even a hint of its former glory.

I hear that you still have some invested interest in me. Occasionally you will ask about me, or ask for my number. What is it that you want?

I see others with theirs, and I am so....jealous. So envious of that which everyone I know takes for granted. I want to search in your face, and find something of myself in it. I want to crawl into your arms. I want to know that everything is going to be alright. Tell me please.

I know that it is impossible for us to have anything.

perdoname

I am harboring a fervent desire to escape.

I need to stop eating, and start school in two weeks.

I want to be happy again with what I have and what I've done and what I am.

I want time to pass.

College starts soon. Not soon enough.

Something wicked this way comes..

Neither good things, nor bad things, are currently gracing the crevices of my cerebellum.

Everything I am in nothing.

I'm want something to occur. But, as always, it seems that I am waiting for something that is has not intention of arriving. Distractiondistractiondistractiondistraction.

Metamorphasis.

I made a promise to myself, years ago when I started this blog, that I would write only the truth. Thus far, I've done a pretty good job of it , my biggest offences being only minor omitting of truths. But hey, if I can afford to omit in my own , private blog, whose business is it but my own? And for this entry, which could create significant problems if read by certain others, I would like to start out by saying that I am very often wrong, but sometimes I am right. And it should happen that when I have a hunch about something unpleasant, it often turns out to be dead on. And so it is with a significantly heavy, bored, exasperated heart, that I will share with cyberspace what I knew was coming all along.

I have tried my best. I do everything in my power to keep things happy. To keep connections going. To keep the beast alive, so they say. They also say that you can "bring a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." I have found that this is true. And as the days go by, I feel my "longing" lessening. I feel things that were once SO important to me becominng less and less so. Moments and snibbits of my life that I treasured so dearly, loved so strongly, are now slowly taking on the form of memory.

I have been trying to fight it.

That part of my life is over, but I didn't want it to be. I accepted that it was done, but at the same time I wanted something new and beautiful to grow out of it. We could never have the same moments again, but maybe we could build on them. Maybe we could make it better! I wasn't going to let the miles, and later, the years , affect relationships at all.

My efforts have been reciprocated enough, but slowly I am beginning to get the feeling that I am the last one hanging on. Perhaps its timing. Familial issues getting in the way of my "readjusment" and so I have not been able to assimilate myself quite as quickly. The bounceback has been more of a ..crawl back. But I am only now beginning to consider the possibility that maybe this is how it is supposed to be.

I will continue what I am doing. Letters, emails, phone calls, etc. But at the same time I have to prepare myself for the almost inevitable. The growing apart that people do. The distance that is not getting any shorter. And of course, the only thing we can all be sure of ; the time that will surely pass. I will take these moments, these months, these weeks, these heartaches and triumphs and confusions and these loves, and I will weave them into memory. Something to look back on when I am old. Something to love and nurture from afar. It never ends you know ,this love, it only changes; takes on new form and energy and meaning as time passes.


I am a small child, looking out of my bedroom window moments before dawn, looking out over the roof of the neighbor house. To my small eyes, it is a mountain. The colors change ; blue, to purple , to pink, to orange. Sunrise approaches. The world awakes.

waterslides.

I've discovered recently that my main emotions, at least lately, are those of anger and boredom. Which , in my opinion, is an absolutely deadly combination. Because when I am bored, I think, and upon doing that, I get mad.

I feel as if nothing is happening. nothing bad, nothing good, nothing nothing nothing. I am a blob of useless and ridiculous energy. In rarely accomplish anything, and when I do, I get impatient with myself for not immediately accomplishing something else. I don't know where I want to be. I certainly dont know with whom I want to be (as if that could ever be easy) , and I am fairly sure that i am going insane. Slowly. So slowly in fact that no one is noticing, because I am a good faker of sanity. I talk and walk and smile and discuss extra long sheets for my dorm room, and sicilian cooking, and dog hiccups. But really, not belonging anywhere is driving the cheese off the cracker.

I want something so good to happen. Everyone tells me how much fun they are having, how many things they are doing, and what am I doing? I want something good to happen, so all of this seems like a distant piece of nothing. I want to go to bed late, so i wake up late in the morning. So my day is half gone!

The mind has mountains.

What will the summer bring forth, I wonder? Everyone , including myself, is growing up. Moving on, going away, traveling, etc. I feel left out even though I am not. I want to have a lot of fun, because with fun and distraction, time comes more quickly. And with time, perspective. Which I want very, very desperately.


Off to be social!


i am an artichoke.

Ci troverà la sera....

Slowly, and painfully, I am readjusting to my life in America. No longer do I wake up in the morning, expecting to be burned intensely by the Sicilian sun. I don't cry anymore, or long to get my ass back onto the plane and speed my way back to Sicily, back "home". Home is here now, and I've accepted it. Now I need only make it real for myself. But with the beautiful reality that my life is progressing, and that I am someone new, there is also the reality that something extraordinary has ended.


My time in Italy was the most trying and beautiful of my life. Hands down. It was not all sunshine and roses and puppies, but what is? I've loved more passionately, and hurt more intensely, than ever before in my life. And so to enter that life was the best decision I've ever made. To leave it, the most heart-shattering. Its embedded in my mind. I stood with my suitcase, munching on a little apricot cake thing. I stood leaning on the bright lime green of my suitcase, listening to my friends talk about something. I cannot remember exactly what at the moment. I had cried on the bus ride there, in the dark, at 3AM, with Daniela the Bolivian girl sprawled across my lap, sick and nauseous. She told me that she was going to miss me very much and then she sort of...crawled on top of me, and slept. She slept, and I cried, because I had grown so attached to her in the past year, and the leaving part of our friendship, the only part we could have foreseen, was approaching all too quickly. And so I stood, with my suitcase, waiting. And the moment that the Bolivian's flight was called, I began to weep. She hugged , told me not to cry, and was gone. I went to my other friend from Honduras for comfort, which she gave. Crying too. And then it was my time to go. And so I did, and here I am. Re-assimilation sucks. my year is done my year is done my year is done. time to move on move on move on move on move on. Grow up grow up grow up. Learn learn learn learn learn. ANDRO' AVANTI! I will always go forward, but it gives me still a feeling of great , powerful sadness to look back. But also , one of extraordinary satisfaction and joy. Which to feel in completion is something I'll have to wait for. My friend Erica's deaf cat named Ice wants to comfort me with his fuzziness. I owe it to my soul to allow him, in all his fuzzy glory, into its crevices. Home never felt so bittersweet.

Nobody expects the spanish inquisition.

I knew it was going to be rough.

I knew, and yet I wasn't prepared.

I am content, and I feel as if no time has passed.

And yet , there is a whole chapter of my life that I cannot name or catagorize or explain.

I want to wake up tomorrow morning, and die of Sicilian heat. I want to shower in my shitty bathroom in the basement, I want to go to the beach and get burnt , I want to talk to Daniela and take walks in the Piazza. I want to be there,but I know that I must be here. Not only be here, but WANT to be here, because there is no other road to take.

I have so many good things happening right now, none of which I can enjoy because I am still not 100% here.

I am very sleepy, and I still need to wash my face.

What will the next days bring forth I wonder?

Absense makes the heart grow fonder, weaker, and more prone to sentimental hooey.

my chest aches.

Between the Wanting and the Getting

The reality is finally setting in.

Piano, piano. Slowly. Slowly.

Slowly, and ever so painfully.

And yet, even with the realization that I truly am leaving in 4 days, I have yet to fully..feel it.

Oh I’ve felt something, sure; pinpricks of soreness and little previews of the severe anguish that is sure to occupy the next few days of my life. But to be honest the authenticity that I will, in fact, be boarding a plane in Switzerland whose wheels will touch upon the pavement at JFK international airport in NYC is something that I cannot yet comprehend. Or perhaps I am reacting upon human instinct, and avoiding those agonizing thoughts for as long as I can.

I cannot…imagine what those last moments are going to be like when I am in Rome before I board the bus to go to the airport. That will be the moment I leave my friends from Intercultura, to embark on my long, stressful journey home.
I will cry. This is a certainty. Even as I am writing now, I feel my chest tightening, the first signals of tears that are sure to arrive. If now, I am feeling the beginnings of snuffles, what will it be like when I actually have to say goodbye? I will moan , and cry, and hug until arms are sore and I have to force myself to let go.

It will be especially difficult , I think, for me to leave Daniela, who I’ve grown to love with such fierceness. I’ve seen her every day for a year. She has been such.. a crutch in my life. A crutch in the sense that if I need something to lean on, there she is. Strong, solid, and dependable. I’ve been with her nearly every day, and it will be an adjustment to find my day, suddenly, without her in it. The attachments formed during periods of difficulty are the strongest. And so, saying “adios” to my dear Bolivian friend, is something I am dreading.

I can write, and reflect, and dread and anticipate, but nothing will prepare me for the near future. And this future that I speak of…it is coming all too fast. I am not prepared. I am not ready. And there is nothing I can do to make myself such. I am entering uncharted territory.

Saying goodbye makes me too nervous, so I’m going now to buy a suitcase with Daniela, and then we will watch movies at my house.


I am so sun burnt, you could boil an egg on my thigh.

my back is a desert, and the coyotes are tickling me with their tails.

My back really itches. So much, in fact, that I want to take some sort of medieval blow torch and sear the skin off my shoulders and upper back.

dont thinkabout it dont think about it dont think about it dont thinkaboutitdontthinkaboutit.

I smell like papayas. So much in fact that I want to take a huge bite out of myself.
Not really.

I also cannot write anymore. have you noticed? every word that shoots out of my fingers is dull, and every . and , and ! and ? is meaningless and tired and trite.

scratchscratchscratchscratch....


i want the future so badly.

change makes me nervous and anxious and sad and happy and insane.

which makes getting to future a little bit difficult.


FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have solved for "x"

Dear You,

Okay, so I’ve decided that I am right, and you are wrong. You may think that this is stupid, and that I am a selfish, ungrateful, pretentious child who cannot possibly understand anything. But I understand more than you will ever know. This is the life you chose for me, and now, the life that I choose for myself. May I highlight, for you, the word “choice”? Read it. See it. Understand it. Can you feel the anger radiating off me? You will not unwittingly insult me anymore, and degrade what I have. What you gave to me. What you would have to pry from my arms if you ever thought to take . It is not second best. It is the only thing I’ve ever had. It is not inferior . It is what I want. When I am 18, I will not come to live with you. I will not undo your mistake. I will not help you work past it . I will not help you reconcile with yourself. I understand how you feel, and I cannot fathom doing what you did, but it is not my responsibility. It is not my burden to carry. I will not feel guilty for loving what I have. I will not feel sorry for you for being irresponsible. Or maybe you were responsible, and now regret what you have done and want peace. But I have no peace to give. You can accept your role in my life, as it is now. Or, you can get out of my life. Simple as that. Simple as pie. I’ve worked very hard in my life as not to feel that I am nothing. I belong where I am. Non sono una figlia di un cane, una figlia di un preservativo rotto.

Love,
Me

Surprised by Gravity

I am at a loss for what to do.

I thought that I had all my answers. I had every fibre and filament inplace, ready to be built upon, ready to be rested and laid upon. But now that they have dissolved, broken into nothing, I find that I am very much without a place to sit. Without a place to breathe or relax or settle down and rest my tired, tired head.

I'm going home soon. Which fills me with a dread and a comfort that I cannot explain. There was never a debate about if it would be difficult. The only question that remains is how difficult it will be.

savemesavemesavemesavemesaveme.

the kitchen walls recieve my sigh.

I don't know what to say to anyone. I have nothing to say . There is nothing to say or to do or to make or to feel. I don't have anything to say to my parents, or to my best friend, or to my grandparents, other than how much I want to see them. I have so much to do. Italy, Rome, going home, parties, NYC, college, college college. And I should be happy. I should be excited about my future, just like everyone else is. But all the looking forward I have to do is destroying me . All I want to do is crawl into bed( I'm not even sure which...) and listen to my iPod and cry and cry and cry until my cheeks are raw with salt and whatever else is in tears, and until my chest is tight and my eyes are burning and my head is throbbing. Then I will sleep, and wake up, and find everything how I've left it. Whatever my everything is.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that affection is only a habit.

I want everything and nothing. I believe in everything in nothing. I am everything, and nothing.

IT'S ALIVE!!!!!!

I can almost smell home. I can see the faces of my friends, and the fur of my dog, and the color of my bedsheets and the sound of my music. I can smell New York City. Hot dogs and sweat and exhaust fumes and those sugary peanuts that everyone eats even though no one is sure where they come from. I'm just not..quite..close enough to touch it.

School is almost done, and it is so hot.

I have never wanted to go home so badly, nor have I ever wanted so desperately to remain.

I must combine worlds. Sicily and New York. Mixed in a very large mixing bowl to become a new reality, just for me.

Selfishly, I want to combine borders, cultures, languages, and friends.

I want everything and everyone all at once, without losing anything.

I am a child. I want my comfort, and I want it now now now now now.

I want the quiet and peace of Gigi and pepas house, mixed with the craziness that is my friends. I want Daniela and Lisa to tell me to stop smelling all of the lotion in the supermarket, and I want Erica to assure me that it's okay, because it makes me special. I want to snuggle with my dog, and fall asleep watching Dr. House, but when I wake up I want to be able to walk out the door and onto the sandy beach of the Mediterranean. I want to attend school in english, but joke in italian. I want to love un ragazzo, but I want him to live in America with me. I want my parents, but I also want my host brother and sister.

I want to craftily mold my lives into one, and live in this psuedo-reality for ever and ever.

I'll enter my old world, only to mourn my former. The italian amanda is going to die (or at least be brain dead and clinging to life....) The american amanda has long been buried. The only things left are the cold, white bones. I'm gonna create a new frankenstien existance, slabbing together the new and the old parts. Heart from america. viens from italy. languages of bones stringing it all together.

I'm coping as best I can.

runneth over

Nothing is important anymore .Nothing matters more than the crocus like lust that is blooming within the small intimate spaces between me and my bello, incredibile, ragazzo.

You tell me that my hair looks like tuscany, and that I smell like rock and roll.

I want to crawl into your pores and snuggle within the spaces inbetween your ribs.

We speak in whatever language suits our fancy. We joke in italian, explain complicated concepts in english, we curse in both. Ti amo, i love you, ti voglio bene, sei troppo incredibile, you get better the more I see you.

Our occasional language barrier makes us laugh. Makes us fall to the floor with tears in our eyes. We exchange pleasantries and flowers. Kisses and fingers. Nose to nose. We kiss in a language that is all our own.

Ma vaffanculo!!!!

These past few days have taken a toll on my body. Really.

I haven't gotten very much sleep at all, I've had a head ache and a slight stomach ache.

And why? Because people are never what they seem.

Non è una causa morale

Ignorance, in my humble opinion, is one of the humanities deadliest weapons. We could talk
(or ..blog..) all day about what it has done to our world. All sorts of other horrible things spring from “lack of knowledge”. But who is to blame for this unawareness? We laugh at the ignorant among us; but what about the people who are so only because they have never been taught? People who are ignorant about other countries, how are they to know unless they have been there, or someone has bothered to teach them?

Last night, I had the pleasure of spending time with a good friend of mine, who is another exchange student in the same town. Because her language skills sometime surpass mine, I found myself asking her how to say something was “wrong” in italian. Not in a scholastic sense, but in the sense of morally, or ethically wrong. She thought for a moment, and taught me that , in italian, we don’t use the word “sbalgio” (wrong) but instead, we say “questo non è morale…” (this is not moral). Of course, this got us talking . What, in our opinions, wasn’t moral. We talked about assisted suicide, gay marriage, and finally, abortion. Of course. We are both, surprisingly, for it. I say surprisingly only because she is from a very catholic country in South America. Anyway, she told me that if people don’t want kids, abortion is the only option. If a woman who was considering abortion decides against it, and allows her child to live with her, what kind of atmosphere is that creating for the kid?

“I didn’t REALLY want you..but..you know. Abortion is murder. Non è morale!”

I disagreed, declaring that adoption was, in fact, another option. (God.. did I really say it….)She didn’t even look at me when she replied
“ Yes but then I do not think that the child will have a good life”.

I suggested that we buy some crepes.

The Burden of Perspective

I’ve been told recently about a serious flaw in my personality.

It’s not something most people would consider a flaw, of course. But since I am the queen of self- critical (at least today) I’ve decided to count this little quirk a defect in my character.

This shortcoming, measured by most as mere sociability, is the remarkable ability to be kind to nearly everyone. And I don’t mean just cordial, how-do-you-do-I-like-your-shirt genial. I mean, full on by-the –end- of –the- day- you –think- I –am- your- best- friend-genial.

Let us explore.

When I meet someone( who I don’t find objectionable..which is pretty much everyone) I rush in with full on “Amanda”. I leave nothing out. I give every aspect of my personality. My speech my music my trust my confidence my inner workings and my cheerfulness I am just as nice to them as I would be to say, my best friend. Or my dog. Or anyone else who is important to me and who deserves my affection. I am trusting, and kind, and enthusiastic. I have this ability to make people happy, and to make it seem like I really like them. And I do. This is not falseness we are talking about here. I’m genuine when I say that I like nearly everybody, and I do my best to express my fondness by being warm.

But here, my dear friends, is where the quandary arises.

I do not enter a relationship with caution. I am not a fly on the wall, looking good and hard at the situation before putting myself into it. I do not observe, or evaluate or inquire. The only thing that will make me “step back” a little,(less friendly less trusting less open) is a slight on the other persons behalf. I am wholehearted and passionate and unquestioning until someone gives me a reason not to be. Thus opening myself to inevitable disillusionment.

I give everyone everything I’ve got. I jump head first into friendships and relationships, hoping only for something equally as warm and inviting waiting for me on the other side. Sometimes, however, people don’t respond in quite the way I expected, and I smack onto marble. Or concrete. Or some other chilly, hard substance. They do not respond with the same level of loyalty, or correspond with my expectations. They take my kindness for granted; mistake my gentleness for naivety, or worse, weakness. I become unacknowledged, as everyone is so confidant that I will remain by their side, regardless of how I am treated. And because I didn’t look both ways before I jumped into this swimming pool of closeness , I am left laying at the bottom; skull cracked, brains and plasma seeping out through every broken bone.

Vietato agli animali

I am caught in a strange web between extreme happiness and extreme despondency. I've been tangled so long, and no solution has come up, that I find I am tired from the struggle.

I am living here, basically on my own. I function here in a way that I have never had to function before. I am beginning to miss my friends, and my family and my pillow and my bed and my dog..and all the things that have always been so ...comfortable..to me.

My brain is cloudy and my nose is stuffy and my eyes are hurting.


5 more months. An experience is an experience. Nobody said it would be a jar of roses.

I feel like that isn't quite the expression I was looking for.


I can speak Italian.

Gentle rain from a cloudless sky.

I can recall and relive any given moment of that evening.

I remember being nervous. Making mindless smalltalk with the person sitting next to me.
"Don't worry" Paulo said " You'll be able to handle it"

Sure. Great.

I remember staring out the window, watching the sparse trees go by just a little bit too fast.

You called his cell phone.

"Where are you?"you ask. Voice frantic. Anxious. "Two minutes away ", we said. "We're turning into the apartment complex right now."

I remember how my heart raced as my confidence wavered.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I bet I could stay here in the truck, and tell everyone it's all a big mistake.

"I'm not ready! I'm not ready! I can't do it! Don't make me! "My brain is screaming.
But outwardly, I'm silent. I could just turn and run, everyone would understand.

Instead, I get out of the car.


I can't believe I'm actually doing this. How many years has it been? And now, to resurface it all. It seems insane. And yet, I keep walking. I figure I have another 2 or 3 minutes until we locate which apartment is yours. 2-3 more minutes to prepare myself.

No such luck

I avert my gaze from the ground, and there you are, walking hurridly towards us. At least, I think it's you. You say something, and all of a sudden, recognition slides across my face. At this moment, I can't remember exactly what you said to me, as you rushed over for the longest hug I've ever experienced in my life. Emotion sometimes dulls all of the other senses, I think. But I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.

After the neverending hug, we are ushered into the front door. Susie is there, so are her kids. Nonna as well. Nana rushes in for the kill. Another hug. Thankfully not as long as the last one.

We awkwardly sit on the couch. Paolo sits in between us. I relax, thankful for the buffer. Nonna speaks first." You know, I used to call you snow baby. Your skin and hair were so white. You got all the German in us. I bet you burn easily"

I do.

I nibble on generic brand mint cream oreos. We talk about apartment prices, childhood antics, and school. Anything to avoid whats actually important.There's an elephant in the room. He's big, and angry. Just waiting to surface.

And suddenly, he does.

I hear whimpering from a few seats over. Paulo whispers to you. You nod, and tuck your hair behind your ear. Paulo gets up, and you inch closer and closer to me. I stare at my feet. You falter, but only for a moment, as you start to stroke my hair. I can't take it anymore. Paulo comes back from the kitchen, drink in hand, and notices his seat has been taken over. He sits on the far end of the couch.

You smile and me, or at least I bet you do. I still refuse to make eye contact.


" We're all here, sweetheart. A family."

I feel a lump in my throat, one that is roughly the size of the previously mentioned elephant.

You tell me about your hair. It was longer once, but lately you just don't have the time to take care of such lengthy strands. You cut it a few months back, but you miss it, and plan to re-grow.

Half of me wants to run out the door,and never come back. The other half wants to dive into your arms, and never let go. It's time to leave, Paulo says. We have to meet some people for dinner. You rush into the bedroom, and bring out a little box. It's contents? A little stuffed pillow. Covered in blue satin, with butterflies. It smells like lavender. Or something. I think it's the kind you put in with your underpants, to make them smell nice.I thank you, give brief hugs, and I start to leave. I turn back only once.
You look different than I remember. You look, older. Slightly pudgy. You're hair is still auburn, and you have enough freckles to mimic the constellations. You're wearing a black shirt, and dark blue jeans. Black isn't flattering to such a light skin tone. Someone should tell you. But, that someone isn't me.You hug me one last time. " My baby" you say. Barely an audible whisper. For a second, I embrace this. I buy into it. It's comforting, this bond we are supposed to have. I want to stay with you longer. Listen to you talk. Listen to your stories,your dreams, your life. I want to understand all of this shit. I want to hear it from you! Tell me ! Please, please give me some sort of peace!

But as always, you don't deliver.We ride to the restaraunt in silence. I am overwhelmed. Disenchanted with your reality. Heavy with despondency.

" How are you?" Paulo asks.

Fine.

I open the card that came with my gift.

"Happy belated birthday. Love, Mommy"
The letters seem to dance across the page. As if to gain my attention, if only for a moment.

I shoved it back into the envelope.

to voglio tanto tanto bene.....proprio..

As I sit here in an internet cafe, sipping vanilla tea and trying to warm ny feet against the heat of the radiator in front of me, I can't help but wonder if I am drinking this beverage to drown out the last bit of emotion I have left in myself.

I stand amazed today, that my life, no matter how confusing and unbearable and insane it sometimes can be, is just what it looks like. Life. I am living my days in between a state of homesickness, and the feeling that I never want to go home again. Part of me wants to return to the states, and snuggle back into the life of my peers. A life of dorm rooms and scholarships and college acceptances and finals. The other part of me wants to buy an apartment near the sea, and live this new life for the rest of my days, speaking any language I want, switching from Italian to English as I please.
“Heyyy whats up! Come stai? Tutto posto? I’m so happy for you! Ti piace tua famiglia? Mine is pretty good. Everyone has their moments I suppose. Tu vuoi andara per pizza opurre.. qualcosa? Ho fame! You too? “

It comes so naturally to me know, this cambiarmente of lingua. This change of tounge. This life of being a foreigner.


I search for comfort in the most obvious of places, but keep coming up empty handed.


I wonder what I must do to live the life I've so maticulously weaved for myself.

Sorry I Missed You

It’s remarkable how time has the ability to change everything. Memories fade, people who were once important fade into your history. Pain you thought would never heal slowly turns into nothing more than a sore spot, flaring up again when something, anything, triggers your memory. Our lives, our beings, are cast by our experiences. No individual is the same. Everyone is inimitable. This seems trite; a message drilled into our heads as little children in an attempt to raise self esteem, and convince us all that we are as special as our mothers think we are. This phrase, while stale and tired, is completely true. It is a fact that our life occurrences shape us in every single way. Every decision we make, every thought we think, every moral fibre intertwined within us, is there because of something else. Some determining factor. If you look deep enough, really look, you can find a reason for nearly everything you do.
Because I am slowly developing independence, I have been trying desperately to find some time to myself. And I’ve succeeded. I am finding time to sing, time to write, and time to think. This time, these treasured moments of solitude and self reflection, have shown me things I never knew I possessed. Neil’s meticulousness and demand for sincerity in all meaningful relationships. Gloria’s music and passion for history. Dave’s easy going manner, and respect for all those who are deserving. Kathleen’s emotional unsteadiness . Her ability to read people, even if it hurts to interpret. I am all this, and more. A muddle of people. Of blood and exterior influence. Neither more important than the other, but all imperative in making me who I am.
I love you. Despite everything. Really. I tell people I don’t care about you, that you are undeserving of my affection, and therefore you mean nothing to me. You have failed, I tell everyone, and you are nothing in my life anymore. I cringe when compared to you, and I unleash my emotional claws on anyone who is brash enough to make the connection. But inside, I am soaring. Happy to have a connection with anyone. Even if all you’ve never done anything to deserve it. The fragility of our relationship (if it even exists anymore) is profound .We care, but we don’t ask how one another is doing. We love, but we will never see each other again.
Happy birthday.

Sono libero

I have decided that I am never coming home.
Perhaps you are waiting for a further explanation. She has to be joking. She is going to use that phrase and cleverly blend it into a metaphore to express how much she is enjoying herself.

Except, I'm not. I never want to come back. I never want to leave this Island. I'll stay here forever. I'll become perfect in the language. I'll marry an Italian. Have lots of tan babies. I'll teach English. I'll do whatever it takes. I have never been so completely happy in my life. Perhaps its because nothing matters anymore. I am who I am. I am not tied down by preordained misconceptions. I have friends I have family. I have the sea. I have my wonderful bed. I have freedom, responsibility, and new expectations. I have life, and I love it.

For the first time in my life, I am uninhibited. Who I am is not tainted by irresponsibility and sin and trash and stupidity.

I am only me.

Don't run off in the pouring rain.

I don’t even talk about you anymore.
Invariably, you come up in conversation. But once again I feel those pangs when I mention your name.
Why aren’t I over this?
I thought we were over this?
Everyone misses theres. “We’re so close!” they say.

Is it cultural, or are we missing something? Something besides the obvious; eachother.

Whats wrong with us?

life is so good i am waiting for the downfall

As I sit here in Sicily, my life is unfolding around me. Everything is good. Isn’t that odd’ How many people can say that there lives are completely worry free. Everything is happy. I am happy. It is blissful to feel as if nothing is wrong.

What have I accomplished? What have I made of myself? I am here, in Italy. Learning Italian. Bathing in the meditteranian sun. My white skin is slowly turning bronze. My blonde hair is becoming lighter as the sun bleaches and sparkles my dark golden locks. My face is clear, my mind is free. What have I done to deserve this? Neinte.

I talked to Dave yesterday. He bought Ellen a truck. And a credit card for gas money. And he pays for the insurance.

She’s 14 years old.

He calls it being a good parent. I call it being a stupid ass who is going to spoil his daughter right into the fiery inferno of hell.

Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

Arrivaderci amore, ciao.

I’ll wait here to cheer you on? I’m tired of waiting.

life is so good i am waiting for the downfall

As I sit here in Sicily, my life is unfolding around me. Everything is good. Isn’t that odd’ How many people can say that there lives are completely worry free. Everything is happy. I am happy. It is blissful to feel as if nothing is wrong.

What have I accomplished? What have I made of myself? I am here, in Italy. Learning Italian. Bathing in the meditteranian sun. My white skin is slowly turning bronze. My blonde hair is becoming lighter as the sun bleaches and sparkles my dark golden locks. My face is clear, my mind is free. What have I done to deserve this? Neinte.

I talked to Dave yesterday. He bought Ellen a truck. And a credit card for gas money. And he pays for the insurance.

She’s 14 years old.

He calls it being a good parent. I call it being a stupid ass who is going to spoil his daughter right into the fiery inferno of hell.

Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

Arrivaderci amore, ciao.

I’ll wait here to cheer you on? I’m tired of waiting.

This Sunday is going to be amazing.

Conditional Surrender

Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of contacting my biological family again. Surely, my 6 year old brain thought, they must miss me? They must wonder, they must speculate how I’m doing? What I look like now? What I enjoy, and find objectionable? For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in this mindset. I was sure I was missing something. I was envious of all the other kids. In preschool, while all of the parents would sit around the playground and chitchat about the day their children were born, I would sit with my mom as she shifted awkwardly. She didn’t even know me when I was that age. I could sense the discomfort etched in her face, the longing to just be like everyone else. I could relate t to that feeling.
I hated telling people. When my childhood friends would ask why I don’t look like my parents (at all…actually) I would shrug it off, and tell them I looked like my Irish grandmother. My parents even repeated this lie to people who were nosy. When I was finally gutsy enough to actually tell people, their questions were just as I had feared.
“Were you in an orphanage?” they would squeal, eyes rotund with wonder “ Why didn’t anybody want you?”

Such are the scattered memories from my early days. Not that this obsessed my life . Goodness no. I was regular in so many ways. But there has always been something..different in my way of thinking.

I dreamed about how wonderful it would be to see my mother again, and to finally have someone who I could relate to. Someone who would instinctually be like me. Someone who, I fantasized, would love me in such a profound way that I would marvel how I ever lived without her.

When I sought my mother out, she was just as emotional as I had expected. She cradled me (I was 14...so this was highly inappropriate.) She cried, and tucked my hair behind my ears. “My baby, my baby” she kept murmuring. In the perfect world, we would have fallen madly in love with one another again. We would share letters and phone calls, making up for lost time. I would feel wanted, accepted. She would finally do what she was supposed to.

In reality, I found a drunken immature drug addict who loves only herself. I found a father who, despite his good intentions, cannot separate love from discipline. I found a sister who just wants me to get the hell out of her life, so she doesn’t have to share any of what she has worked so hard to maintain.

The disappointment weighs heavy on me. Heavier than anyone will ever know.

I don’t know whether it is the fact that I’m getting older, or the fact that I am too disappointed to bounce back, but I am finally at the point where I can attempt to let it go.

What I was searching for was closer than I had ever imagined.

You Underestimated Me, Hun.

Skipper is the cutest thing in the universe.

And everything is falling into place exactly as it should.

For once, I don't feel guilty for being happy.

I am doing what I am supposed to.

I'M THE FIRST ONE DAVE.

It's all ending with me.

I've been doing a lot of relfection.( Uh oh! I smell a long post) I often do so when I know that my life is about to change drastically. As it is about to do.

Perhaps the biggest perk about leaving the country in 10 days, is that I don't have to interact with my psychopath sister and her father who is in denial about her level of psychoneuroses anymore. When I started contact with them again ( seven years ago..wow), everything was great. I felt so..complete. I felt like I knew what I had been missing all those years. I talked to my mother again, which was emotionally draining and fucking scary as hell, but I'm glad I did it. She gave me some real insight without meaning to. I realized not only am I so happy I have nothing to do with her, but I will never, ever be her. Which quite frankly, I am so relieved to know. I give the woman credit, because I could never do what she does. I could never live with myself knowing that people needed me, and I was powerless to help them. I could never willingly desert the ones who are supposed to be most important to me. She has skewed my whole view of motherhood. I read and hear that your children are the most important thing in the world to you. You'd do anything for them. They are the core of your being. This really..messes with me. I won't lie, I think about it from time to time. And I realize there is always going to be something I am missing. Something that I can't put a finger on, but I know is present.While her unique absence in my life is debilitating, however, it has also made me appreciative.

I'm leaving to study abroad for a year! Fucking take that Ellen you dumb bitch! You are absolutely such a failure, and I hate you more than you can ever fathom. Fuck fuck fuck you! Go hang out with your ponies baby, because they are going to be the last thing thats going to tolerate your bullshit.


I felt every ounce of me screaming out. It's so hard to do what I must.

Lazy days and sexual cats

I spend my days laying in bed, listening to audio books on my iPod. Occasionally, I'll get up and go for a run, or I'll write a college essay or two. But mostly, I listen. My kitten, Mozart, loves these moments. It is exactly what he loves to do. He spends most of his day sleeping alone up on the rocking chair in my mothers study, so when he has the chance to sleep near me on my comfortable bed, he's all for it. He purrs and nuzzles and does all of those sensual things that cats do. I cover my face with blankets and pillows, and I sit with my little iDog. Yes. I have an iDog. It's a little stuffed dog (that my dad insists is a bear) that has built-in speakers in him. You plug in your iPod to a little wire that trails out of his back, and snuggle/listen all you please.

Today has not been noteworthy in the slightest. I do all the things I always do. It seems a little strange that my life is about to change so drastically, when everything seems so banal.

12 more days. What will the year bring forth I wonder?

The Unbearable Lightness

Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the skies,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us

Everything I write is psychobabble.
Nothing makes sense. I struggle to string together coherent sentences, but nothing seems to flow.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, bleeding out the wickedness that settles on my tongue.
I am tired, I am anxious, I am ecstatic, I am old.

All I do is watch reruns of House , drink elderberry/pear water, and stress until my brains ooze out every crevice of my face.

Everyone tries to please me, unaware of the fact that I live to please others.
Everyone tries to coddle and appease me; but nothing has any effect.

When I was little, Gale would set in front of me various artistic substances. Clay, scented markers, watercolor pencils, and crayons. She would talk to me, pick apart my brain with her bony little fingers, as I drew ponies and faeries and butterflies and cats.

"Why wont you talk to me?" she would ask. "You can tell me things.You can trust me "

I would ignore her. I would scribble on my paper, crunch the crayons; mash the clay between my 8 year old fingers. I would babble on and on about dinosaurs and pinwheels and the ducks at central park. I would tell her about my teacher, Mrs. Alfano and how she had unusually small feet.

I claim to be older now, well past my childhood embarrassment.

But every time someone mentions the word, I get acutely aware of my surroundings. I am mortified. I could die of shame. I keep it a secret though. I just become quiet and subdued, ignoring the pain that tears through my ribcage.

crack, crack, crack,crack, crack.

Big birds flying across the sky,
throwing shadows on our eyes.
They leave us helpless.

Happy Borthday

I have a new baby sister.
Which, is nice. I guess.
I won't actually meet her, but it's still a nice thing to think. At least, I like to think that she will be more like me than like Ellen. I'm happy for her in the sense that she is fortunate enough to get the hell out before she realizes that she is trapped.

Trapped trapped trapped trapped. Like one of those cute little fox's who has to gnaw its own leg off to free itself.

No matter what she does, she'll be stuck.

Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't matter how much love is showered upon you. It always haunts you. It always fucking hurts. It sends a pang of grief over you every time you go to someones house. Every time you meet someone who reminds you. Every time someone enters your life, and every time someone leaves it. Rejection is sensitive, you are an alien.

I am a fox. I chew and chew and claw through sinew and flesh and finally bone. The marrow rots my teeth and burns my lips. But I keep going, afraid of what will happen if I stop.

Happy birthday.

I'm leaving in like..two weeks. And for some reason I am feeling something completely inappropriate.

I am anxious and sad.

I'm excited to go on a plane and pack and get into Rome and have a completely fun and enriching experience. But I'm totally abandoning my comfort zone, and that makes me completely depressed and scared.

I'm not going to have any friends for a while. I won't be able to just call up Erica. I'm afraid I'm going to get there and then be completely sad. And cry. And write letters to people.
Looking back, I've moved a couple of times. So I'm used to relocating. But it's always such a big change. Change makes me so nervous.

I am actually ready to throw my hands up and be like "FORGET IT! I'm staying here and going to LVPA"

Except I can't because we spent money and my parents would get angry and I would miss out on something that is supposed to make me mature and make me more worldly.

i'm such a fucking pussy.


i miss you every single day.

Beating the Bounds

I spent the better part of this morning curled up on one of the reclining chairs, tissue box in hand, watching TNT and musing about how wrong everyone is.

I was told today, by an ever well-meaning source,that I am the same as Ellen. I am the same as Kathleen, and I am the same as himself.

if only that was even remotely true. I am not some primitive beast. I have never been arrested for assault. I have never so much as beat anyone up. I've never had a drug problem ,or an alcohol problem. I am not a stupid selfish spoiled little bitch who doesn't give a shit about anybody else.I will never go to jail.I will never snort cocaine. I'm not even sure if you CAN snort cocaine. I am not shallow, and I certainly am not Ellen Dave or Kathleen.

You're happy your a Rodger, because the Rodgers are crazy and fun?

Well I'm happy I'm not a Rodger anymore, because you're all too fucked up for me.

Women in Cacti with a Curled Up Rat!

I have no interest in men.

Now wait wait. Don't get the wrong idea.

I'm not a lesbian or anything.

I just simply, do not have any interest in dating, or getting married.

Isn't that fucking strange as hell?

I see Erica who texts Alex 287410412412's a day. She loves talking to him! And its clear he loves talking to her to. A lot of my friends are dating, and they fall head over heals hopelessly in love with some grubby, horny teenage boy. Then, once the relationship ends, (as it always does), they are devastated. Crushed.

When I date, it's only because someone has asked me, and I have nothing better to do.

We go to a movie, we sit on my bedroom floor, we "sit" on my bed ( or whatever you personally call it, I'm discreet) and then a few months later, we break up. No. We don't even break up. That would require actually saying something. With myself, we always just end up... not talking anymore. Occasionally, he'll drunk dial me. And I'll laugh, and tell him to go to bed/hell. Depending on how much I liked him.

I don't care about dating. I don't mind "being alone". I have other interests, other passions.

But you know the weirdest thing of all?

I don't care if I get married or not. Now off the bat that may not seem too odd, because plenty of my friends don't want a husband. They want to be CEO's of companies! Sex in the City wannabes! Or they want to be in the military, and "kick some Saudi Arabian- Iraqi anyonewhoisntwhiteandhasdifferentvalues ass"

Not me. I don't care if I ever find a husband, but I want children. At least one, but most likely two. I would rather just walk myself down to a sperm donation place , and get me a turkey baster and some smart-man sperm. It would have to be someone intelligent, like a med student from Yale who donates sperm to pay for his ridiculously expensive tuition.

If someones falls into my life, so be it. I'll go with that. It's not like I'm asexual, and I'm not attracted to anyone. It's just not a priority. I want a baby(ies) and a good job. I want to be a mother and an educated woman. And I want a dog. A dog is a must.

Things are moving at the speed I want them to.

College applications, recommendations, and transcripts are all falling perfectly into place.

I am getting in all my visits with friends before I leave.

I email my host family regularly,and they claim " Già di conoscerti da tempo! "
"We feel as if we have known you for some time now!" . Basically

Isn't that tender?

I want to leave. I keep packing, slowly adding things to my suitcase.

Time is dragging.

It's impossible for me to have an altercation with my parents without at least one of them psychoanalyzing me.

" But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty you need only look into a mirror. "

The anger is poisoning my mind, and forcing me to think about it far more than I should.. so in a pathetic attempt to release some of it, I decided I had to write.

I have a sister named Ellen, who hates the very core of me.

Until very recently, I was extremely hurt by this. I hadn't really done anything offensive towards her. I let it control me. I pondered and obsessed over what I had done wrong. I couldn't figure out why her hatred was so strong. I was her sister! I was so nice to her! And she saw me extremely infrequently, so I figured that she was just being immature.

But, as I've gotten a little older, and I've experienced even more of her constant attempts to fuck with my mind, I have developed a new and slightly alarming emotion concerning her. I despise her. I want to beat the shit out of her.

I have never hated anyone so thoroughly in my entire life.

I have had people annoy me, anger me, and even piss me off. But she enrages me. She manipulates everyone around her, and her jealously has made me her constant project.

I am very easily hurt, and she knows that.

And better yet, her father (also mine biologically..sadly enough) lets her do it! He acknowledges her behavior, and yet continues to do nothing! He tries to smooth things over... claiming that we are blood sisters and should love eachother. B it doesn't work! I let things go, I never retaliate, and all i get for it is a HUGE smack in the fucking face. I'm tired of tolerating her constant abuse because " I'm older, and I should". I have run out of excuses for her! I hate her. Shes is the SPITTING IMAGE of our fucking low life no good mother. Who I hate almost as much as I hate Ellen. Almost. Not quite.

She feels no love for me, and I certainly no longer feel any for her. Instead of love, I feel uncontrollable rage that is absolutely so exhausting to keep under wraps. If she fucks with me one more time, I don't think I will be able to control my self.

If she wants her family and her father all to herself, I am totally willing to arrange that.

It certainly is not worth this aggravation.

Howw youu doinnnn?

I am happy now and nothing is going to ruin it.

not Ellen.
not dave
not skipper
not my parents
not my cat.
not the fact that i havent made my bed in 3 days.

I am happy and content and clean and showered and I'm watching a movie with Erica and my dad and his girlfriend are coming to pick us up soon to go to dinner.

My host family loves me, and I think they are wonderful and funny and interesting.

I am leaving in 31 days.

I am excited and thrilled and bashhetlldgdgb!

sigh, life is good.

We just don't see it coming.

I officially no longer know what to do. I want to maintain a relationship with Dave and Cindy..but Ellen has made it impossible for me now.

I think I'm going to have to give up on them, and maybe just..end the relationship with the little bit of dignity I have left.

It's an agonizing decision; one that I don't especially want to make. I have that " knot -in-your-stomach" nervous feeling, my temples hurt, I constantly feel like crying. This is whole episode is so draining. I just want it to go away.


Maybe I can just..fade into the woodwork.Maybe I can just keep the contact very casual, and then leave for Italy and not talk to them for a year!


That may be the best solution.

I have to think about it.

I am agonizing.

My brain is melting.

It saddens me that things haven't worked out.

But hey, some things just aren't mean to be I guess.

I am officially over it. I don't need it. It doesn't matter to me anymore.

Thats what I've decided.

Right here, right now.

It needs to end, for my sanity.

Everybody falls down, without even a whimper.

It's very warm in my house. Even though I'm wearing just a tank top and shorts, the heat is almost stifling. Maybe its because I'm nervous. Because I know that the inevitable is approaching , and it's coming pretty fast. I'm not even sure if its the right thing to do. Will I just end up hurting myself more? I have all the answers I'm ever going to get... maybe prolonging this is just bad for everyone. But most importantly, maybe its bad for me. For once, I am going
to think only about myself. I always put the needs of others before my own. Not tonight. Tonight I am going to think about how this has complicated my life. How being " in contact" has hurt me more than it has ever helped me. It brought about emotions I didn't even know I had. It made me feel lost, confused, hurt, and sorry.

Sorry I ever got into this mess. I'm sorry that Ellen thinks I want to steal whats hers. I'm sorry that she hates me so much. I'm sorry that I've essentially failed at making the reunion work. This reunion has failed.

God, I'm so fucking sorry.

I am seriously fed up. To my limit. I know what I need to do, but it just hurts so goddamn much.


I'll make a few rough drafts tonight, and think on it some more.