I am at my parent’s home, listening to Alanis Morrissette late at night.
It is suddenly 2002 again.
I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, and I'm the card the dealers won't touch. And it's just not true I'm a man-eater; all the same, we should probably go dutch.
The things you pick up as you go.
When my S.O isn’t here for the night and I walk into the master bathroom and promptly sit down on the toilet without shutting the door…that is the one moment from my previous Single Life that I love and keep.
Obviously, today is an especially poignant “I miss living in Florence” day. I haven’t had one in awhile, so it’s really hurting.
I’ve decided that when I return, I want to do it with either the Via Ghibellina Girls, or someone I’m in a relationship with. I want to drink EXCESSIVE amounts of espresso, and take the route from my apartment on Via Aprile to the building in the Fashion District behind the Odeon that two of my classes were in, that took me right past the Duomo and through the arch in the Piazza della Repubblica, above. I want to take photos of the walk down Via Cavour, when the Duomo peeks between the building at the end of the street, and you have to skirt the Bapistry. I want to do it early in the morning, like when I used to be walking to my 9 AM class so that I can take photos of the sales associates opening Prada and Louis and Armani (as they give me dirty looks, as they always did). I want to take snapshots of all the little (and not so little) sights I saw every day, the ones that when I close my eyes, I can still bring to mind perfectly. I want real photos of these, the things I miss most, not the gelato and shopping and art, so that when I’m 80 I can look at them and remember the independent, multi-lingual girl who used to live there, and what she felt and thought and saw.
I’ll always have a soft spot for all Alice in Wonderland-themed things since the new Alice soundtrack was what I listened to when I fell down my rabbit hole in Florence.
This video/song gives me goosebumps every.time.
Sometimes late at night when I’m bored I like to leave a complimentary comment on Facebook on a photo of one of the guys I used to hook up with or dated in college so that it leads us to re-connecting for some light flirting and catching up. (Because nothing catches a man’s attention faster than a compliment on how he’s looking good lately, FACT.)
It gives me this warm, fuzzy, golden feeling of nostalgia.
One of my friends from college who I hadn’t spoken with in about two years called me the other night.
It was so good to hear his voice, I almost started crying.
Nostalgia rules my life right now.
We used to be so close, for the 5 months I lived in Italy, we were email pen-pals. The delight of every 2 weeks was getting a new email from him about the sarcasm and beauty of life back home.
I feel so warm and fuzzy right now I might explode with kittens. Watch out. Flying cat-meat.
When I was in 9th grade and listening to Enya every morning when “Orinoco Flow” was my alarm, I never thought that nearly a decade later I’d be listening to it in my same childhood bedroom as a twenty-something post-grad while getting high at night.
Perspective as time marches by.