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.