Okay, so the blog from a few days ago is now null and void. Many thanks to all the friends and family who convinced me that I can make this work and that I will look back on this experience with a smile in a short time. I already look back with a smile, and it’s only been a matter of weeks, but basically I became so sick and tired of worrying that it was draining me of any and all hope…one bad day took care of that, and I decided that I’ve just gotta go back to the ‘the cup is half full’ version of myself, which is the version much-preferred by everyone, especially those who have to hang out with me day in and day out. So here I am. I’m thrilled to be in the hostel and out of the black depths of the apartment that was in San Giovanni. Granted, sometimes I wish I were in a slightly more private space (right now I’m in a room with 9 other girls) but I know that this is only temporary, and I’ll be heading to my sweet apartment in only 10 days! Woot!

Bruna the landlady has been sleeping on the couch at the apartment in San Giovanni with the other three renters who have all paid her good money to have their own space. She got a little tired of seeing my face around there all the time, so one afternoon she left a note saying, “You guys will need to pay me for having unauthorized guests here, no matter what time of day they are here.” Apparently she didn’t like the fact that, no, I was no longer sleeping and showering there, but yes, I was taking in all my meals and using the outlets to charge my computer and cell phone. So I’ve severed the ties, and all that remains of ‘the tall girl’ at the apartment are three blouses and my sunglass case.

Staying in the hostel has been an interesting experience, in that everyone is a traveler and has a story about some such thing or another. The other day a backpacker was staying in my room who used to follow the band Phish on the road. So he was thrilled to hear that I hailed from Vermont. He was extremely excited to be talking with someone from the states, and to just have human contact in general, so we had a conversation about everything. I started off chit-chatting with him, and then showered, and the second I got back out of the shower, he started right back in where we left off. I humored him for a while, and then decided that he just wasn’t going to stop, so I decided to drop a hint by pulling out my journal and to start writing. But he kept going, and this is what I managed to write:

…This journal entry is a little here and there because there’s a kid in here who keeps talking about everything and anything—how unimpressive the French Riviera is, Luchenbach, Texas, whether or not the U.S will fall like the Roman Empire, hitchhiking, gay guys at bus stations where he’s slept, fly fishing, shoes from Morocco, camel seats and ‘ass tons of money.’ I mean he just keeps going, I keep writing and he keeps talking. There’ll be a period of quietness and he’ll continue breaking the silence with, “I just can’t speak Arabic though, man, that shit’s hard.” Now I’m explaining the process of language acquisition. And now we’re on to high school and whether or not it’s a joke. I wonder what’s going to happen when it comes time for me to want to fall asleep, which is right about now…ah yes, now we’re talking about the Phish festival in Coventry-huzzah. I don’t know how to break it to this guy who has a tattoo of the band’s logo on his foot, but I just don’t really get into their music all that much. Apparently he was a part of the crowd that walked from I-91, which I still can’t believe people even did, and he can’t understand why people turned around and went home…I mean come on, given the circumstances—duh. He’s reminiscing about the days of being a Phish head and traveling all over the country. Alright, now it’s time for me to fall asleep, and I guess I’ll have his words echoing in my head, with such dynamite phrases as, “Those things are wild.” And just what would ‘those things’ be? Yeah, metros.

So yes, that’s a glimpse of some of the people I’ve had conversations with. Then there’s the pack of American girls who have a 25 minute discussion (and a loud one at that) over proper sleeve length to get into the Vatican at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. Eventually I just rolled over, picked up my aching head and said, “Uh, hate to butt in, but all you have to wear is something that covers your shoulders completely and isn’t very low-cut.” To which a girl wearing a bright pink halter top goes, “So I should go with the ¾ sleeve sweater, huh?” But by then I was already in the process of making a new puddle of drool on my pillow and decided not to respond.

Yep, I’m feeling better, I no longer feel that I will be moving home in December, and now I’m off to conquer the world…or maybe go for a walk in the park.