From Last Year: Golden Showers.

I’m boxed inside my office near the Statuto in Florence. The room, well actually the apartment, smells like Ferret piss. My nine week old puppy is sleeping on my feet exhausted from his long morning of trying to cover up Ferret piss with puppy piss. I feel saturated and tainted though he has only peed on me once (my foot during sex). There is a cloud of uncertainty surrounding me, new area (just moved out of the center), new room-mates, a puppy, and a boyfriend who now shares my room. Too fast. Too slow. The pace is never right.

If I were to rate my fears, commitment would come directly after death, which comes directly after fear of heights, and tokophobia- the fear of child birth. I’m actually surprised more woman are not tokophobic, given the enormous stress, and stretching put on our bodies, coupled with the sudden burst of fear that must come when the head arrives and you think, “this thing is going to outlive me”. My poodle will live for fifteen years and that gives me heart palpitations. Hello, fear of commitment, there you are again! My smaller fears involve fear of failure, and fear of losing myself. In my new situation I am facing all of my fears (except for death and tokophobia, if he gets me pregnant I will A-B-O-R-T-in case he reads this).

Facing my fears is causing an array of strange things to happen to my body. My vagina ever so suddenly dislikes sex. I’m a huge pervert and I find it an unacceptable way to deal with stress. I’m also getting a strange rash on my chest which Jessica, my friend and room-mate has decided is the “water in Italy” but I have decided is, “i’m losing my freedom” spots which I think are surfacing to either A) ward off my relationship, or B) disguise me so I can disappear. I’m also sleeping all the time, but I think that might be the depression from being so far from my close friends at home. My friends who have a dark, witty, sense about them, and who are royal cunts. The girls here seem to be all victims of whatever man is involved in their lives. My boyfriend says “Men are the most stupid creatures on earth, and their easy domination of women proves how stupid women are”. I shoot him a, “go jump off the balcony” look and he says, “no not you, if women were like you we would be slaves, and women would be ruling the world” which translates into, “please don’t make me sleep on the floor, or remove sex from my life”.

I like my boyfriend, I just don’t like having a boyfriend. I’m one of those weird creatures who prefers to be single. It’s the selfishness really. ME, ME, ME. Though, he’s been raised in the odd matriarch of Italy, so he’s tolerable, as long as I’m not too much of a cunt. Yesterday while laying in bed I kicked him and demanded he make me coffee, instead he dragged me to the shower across the apartment and hosed me down with cold water. I like him slightly more after this because Exchange Theory states he tipped the power back in his direction, momentarily. We respect, and value, whoever holds the power, whoever is difficult because difficult things are of value in our culture. Total shit really, but it proves true often in relationships. Ladies, being too accommodating is boring, and will get you thrown onto the street. Remember that.

Getting and keeping men has never been difficult for me, the difficult part is wanting it and making myself okay with sharing, caring, and all of that strange shit. I’m terrified of what is happening in my life right now. I’m nearly 30, and all I want to do is design, and write. Instead, I’m becoming all “domestic” with this damn puppy, and my idiot boyfriend. Lucky for me I learned some techniques yesterday in the studio, “to show your dog who is boss, you just have to pee on it once”, said a friend of mine who is a bag designer here in Italy. I stared at him waiting for the punch-line. “You’re serious?” I asked. He nodded that he was. At the end of the day it really just comes down to urine? I do feel peed on, I feel marked, and owned, and peed on.

Maybe it’s all new, and it’s only the adjustment period. Maybe I need a baking soda rub to wash away the golden shower. Maybe I need to get this line of designs out, and finish my book. Maybe then, I can breathe without inhaling ammonia.

Thoughts On A Gray Day In Italy

There are so many empty moments between coffee cups and cigarette drags, between the filled moments of love and hate. What does any of it matter? I talk to friends who have it all and still they have nothing, and others who have nothing and still have it all or at least they think they do. Maybe they’re better liars, or better at lying to themselves.

An old man lives a few blocks away from me who is known in Italy by “old man blob”. He famously frequents the dance clubs in taylored suits finding young girls he can rub is old member on. I’ve been a victim of his dance moves before. The moves that resemble the free, televised, senior citizen aerobics work out, with the occasional, awkard hip-thrust that is so poorly executed it can only be described as infantile, puppy-ish. And that’s really what life is about, being born an old man and dying with child-like pumps in the empty spaces between yourself, and something new. I’m sure he was adored in his prime just as I’m sure I’ll be vile in my old age. It’s something we can all count on.

Outside, I can hear a broom as someone sweeps the cobblestone in front of our apartment building. The large cement edifices contain and amplify the sound. I imagine it’s what the womb sounds like. When we’re born we’re already insane from listening to our own amplified movements for nine months. The lucky ones are deaf, and they certainly have the best wits about them. Now the sweeping man is yelling to another human across the street in reverberating, melodic screams. It’s suitable for the day, all gray, and hostile. And my conscience suffers.

Human nature can be so keenly depicted in the actions towards those we love. It’s amazing how love can cause so much damage. Really, if you want to ruin a place there’s no need for the atom bomb, better to show Disney at a young age and watch the society crumble of disappointment a generation later. Cartoons can be lethal. It’s better the silence, where our thoughts can comfort us, and fake smiles for us, and fake relationships for us, in between the empty moments.