Another countdown and so many thoughts

I am writing. I am writing. I am writing.
I know I am repeating myself, but I can’t avoid it. It feels so good. I am reading, and I am writing.
I am also going to leave in five days, all planned and ready, and I have too many thoughts on my mind, to be honest: friends who want to see me before I leave, they make me feel as if I were leaving for another exchange year like Hull 2000, the teachers’ list, a shopping-errands trip to Bergamo with Lady friend, more work in the house to leave it nice and tidy for mum.
I spent three days at home with father only, she was on holiday with her office: I ran for hours, read, slept (it is so hot now), gone for a long walk in the woods with dad, up to 1.300 m above sea level, all Sunday afternoon. I have also gone to rehearsals, as my previous post says, and I’ve been cultivating strange fleeting thoughts since then. Yesterday, after the walk, after the necessary shower, and during a tired dinner, I texted Guy, as it’s become the habit of my Sundays, to know where he’s been, being a mountain person like me (I’d like to go trekking with him since none of my friends goes, but…), so I told him where I had been and enquired on his day. A laconic answer on the place he went, and a wish of a good week. I hate short texts, by the way. I write a lot, and my texts are always extra long and superkind, because I cannot send the tone of my voice as I’m saying something, so I need smileys and special expressions to show that I am being a) nice; b) funny; c) joking; d) ironic; and so on. Once again, written communication is not easy.
Anyway.
A thought in my mind is going on and on. Another thought that has been brought back to the surface after being buried for so long during my dark time.
A degree in psychology, how about that? I can work and study at home, there’s no need to attend the lessons in the university I found (which is not as good as the oldest faculty of psychology of the nation, which anyway would be some three hours away by train and requires 100% attendance, meaning that working students are not allowed…). I have downloaded information and am seriously thinking about it. I also intend to find more alternatives to that university, like some place else, which could give me the same interesting subjects and conditions. I am spending too much time on internet but it is necessary that things are carefully studied and thought. I haven’t told my parents about it, yet, because first of all I need to set other things clear and running.
Plans of these days before leaving:

- see Bride friend tonight and Gym friend tomorrow
- see if Library friend wants to meet me for another tea-and-chat
- go to uni town with Lady friend
- register to teachers’ list
- go help for the band summer fair, starting this coming Friday

Not much to do, after all, which is giving me a lot of time to write. I usually write about an hour a day, which is about two pages, and it isn’t difficult, words are happy and tidy when they line on the page. I’ve never felt this good.

A bit of this, a bit of that...

I am just back home after rehearsals and I feel like writing. I am writing like mad these days, page after page, almost entranced, and it feels so good, so good, so good. Next week this time I’ll be at the summer party, in the band’s shirt and wearing some nice skirt, I thought, a sporty skirt that looks good with trainers, although I could also wear sandals; there isn’t much to do on the first night of the party, but drummer friend is playing with his group, so I guess there will be lots of fans who follow them around the valley like I know they do. Anyway.
In the middle of some complicated score, (ex) friend arrived, shining and smiling; after rehearsals she joined us, and I couldn’t almost look at her; she hinted at my tan, I pretended not to hear; I hoped I would have to drive shop-a-holic friend home too, so that I would leave her first and would not be obliged to spend some time in the car with her, but shop-a-holic didn’t quite catch it and so I was left alone, and subsequently spent about 20 minutes talking to her, trying to be general, no details on anything, not wanting to hear anything from her, not wanting to give away the little nothing I have built during these days. In the end, she decided that next week I must do something with Guy, because he’s obviously interested but cannot move first like I wished he would. So her plan is to keep her cousin away from him, and all the others, so that we would have some minutes by ourselves…shame that I heard him say that he may not be there, on Friday night..I was already thinking that in that case I’ll have to invite him for a coffee on Saturday morning, since I leave at midday, and..Oh, I don’t know. It feels strange. When I analyse certain behaviours, it comes clear that he is interested, and that some of his friends are working for this thing to happen, like when playing partner invited me and Chorus friend for breakfast, that Sunday morning: he had never had such a thought, not even when we were friends, and he is not close to Chorus friend at all, so he could have simply said goodbye and left with Guy for a men’s breakfast. Maybe we are just building meanings around trivial moments, to please our imagination, to feed our dreams.
I have little to do and think of, these days: packing list is ready, I have a couple of laundries to do and some shopping too, a few friends to see, and more running and writing until I have time; I haven’t decided whether I should take my laptop with me or not, to keep writing, or if my long-forgotten notebook will do: in that case I will need to print the first pages of what I am writing, to keep it going the way I want, as a reference. Yes, maybe I’ll do that.
I had prepared a sort of compilation for Guy, did I say that? I probably did. I keep changing my mind over it, and I keep pretending to forget to give his cd back, even when he comes to say hello: it’s in my bag and I know it, still I won’t make my hand take it and give it to him. I want that to be a moment of intimacy, maybe, an exchange of something we are now sharing (a very interesting cd of an alternative group, and Rigmor, if you are reading, I will send you a copy, I have the feeling that you may like it). In the end, anyway, the compilation will be changed, I need something better than that, less cheesy (and mind you, it wasn’t really cheesy, there was lots of rock and parts of soundtracks, since he likes cinema, and I like it too, and I chose the nicest I had), but still a piece of me. I will prepare it now. I am made of many pieces, and every compilation is different, my mood being so variable, so unpredictable; for example now I am listening to the soundtrack of Pearl Harbour, a movie I have never seen because I can tell it’s predictable and cheesy, but the music is good, although not very original. And my mood being kind of melancholic, The Hours is also good for this writing. However, I have made compilations before, and the implied meaning is very dangerous, especially because I wonder if playing partner remembers that I had made one for him too, (already) ten years ago. Oh, such a long time ago. He must have forgotten by now. A Christmas present of a snowy night, mulled wine and songs and finally the gift before saying goodnight, and three kisses of merry Christmas I did not expect at all, that filled me with joy and warmth. I still feel the touch of his skin on my face.
So I wonder if Guy will think/understand that I am presenting this compilation to say that I like him, a sort of interested present, if you want to look at it this way. Then again it’s not, because I give presents because I like making people happy, I spend lots of money over little gifts and stuff that I know my friends would like, or that would make them smile. Do you understand? It’s like the need to know what makes you happy: if I know, I will do my best to make you happy.
Ok. All this music has made me feel like watching the movie again (I’m talking of “The Hours”, of course).

Words are flowing (back from Parma)

Just back from Parma, for a weekend with Chorus friend; the city was not as I expected, and I was very much disturbed by her neurotic housemate..However we had an enjoyable weekend, walking and walking and walking, and talking talking talking. We watched “Hero”, the first of the trilogy from Zhang Yimou (the second is “House of flying daggers”, beautiful, and the third one is just out, “The forbidden city”, and I can’t wait to watch it), and went to the opening night of the city poetry festival which featured a concert and some poems read by a great theatre actor and by an actress whom few people liked, I have to say: you could hear some annoyed low chatter every time she stood up to read. Anyway. The music was beautiful, and the cathedral was beautiful, and the night was very enjoyable, although we were very tired from all the walking.
Trophies of the weekend: two books (the new one from McEwan, how couldn’t I? and one from Joyce Carol Oates, since I was in the mood – I am re-reading her “Wonderland”); a good tan; a nice tiredness in my legs (but then again, I’m lying: we walked a lot and I was a bit tired, but I am used to walking a lot. In fact, I arrived at the station tonight and had to come home on foot, and it was no trouble, if only the air hadn’t been so hot and humid: welcome, summer); a lot of thoughts in my mind.
As a matter of fact, the trip from Parma to my county city, where I had to change for my hometown, was a complicated irresistible sequence of thoughts, visions, sudden epiphanies. Words are literally flooding over, and I feel them rushing out some unknown space in my mind, circling endlessly before my eyes, projected like the images of a movie.
I wanted to add a couple of trivial facts: one, I have received formal confirmation that I am accepted on the course in Brighton, therefore I will buy the ticket tomorrow, and start sorting things out before I leave (there is also a new job possibility which I would like to investigate, a one-year project organised by a university, and I may be the right person…cross your fingers, folks), in a list I have yet to prepare…Two, (ex) friend texted me last Saturday, to inform me that she had missed rehearsals again (as if I hadn’t noticed), asking me how things were going and all. It surprised me that she texted me so early in the morning (I saw that it was some time before 8), and that she texted at all. As if nothing happened. I wondered (and wonder now) if she understood, if she thought it normal, if. I don’t understand, and although I talked about it with Chorus friend for a real lot, I still don’t know how I should behave: if I live with her as if nothing happened, she may think that what she did was ok, and she will do it again; but if I behave and show the anger, which is not anger, really, it’s confusion, sudden lack of trust, disappointment, then she may not understand or underestimate my feelings, and how will she react then? Are we in some sort of competition for the attentions of Guy? Anyway. Three, Guy is wonderful, although I am still prone to pessimistic thoughts at times, especially after Saturday night when we never had a moment to be together and chat. The night went really well, I am glad about it: although the drive to the place was unbelievable (a steep slippery extra-narrow hill, right the size of my car, at the end of which my car was almost perpendicular and I couldn’t see what was going to come…I arrived and looked cool, and my friends, especially the male ones, congratulated on my smart guide, whereas the girls congratulated on my courage…I said it hadn’t been that bad, and it hadn’t, really, only the fact that the car in front of the car in front of me – we looked like some expedition in the jungle - had to stop because it was slipping down, and everybody on the other cars – including mine – had to jump out and go push it to help it start again, and then performed the same thing on the car in front, and then on mine, and the narrow road which made me feel somewhat uncomfortable, and the slippery hill…well, as I was talking casually at the beginning of the dinner I reached for some water and noticed my hands…shaking! Then on the way back, being one a.m., no lights whatsoever to show me the way…but at least then I knew what to expect!), I was saying, although the drive was amazing, the place was lovely, the food was fantastic, perfect, delicious, and we did have fun, took pictures, ended with going to the band to sing and play, and look at old pictures (my, have I changed! And luckily, I look a lot better now…), until I left them, being past two a.m., and I had planned to take a train at 10.30, and I wasn’t packed or anything, yet (in the end my parents drove me, having decided to spend the day somewhere different than the lake). But when I left, we had already said goodbye to Guy, who had excused himself at the end of the dinner, for the morning after he was leaving for a trekking trip as usual (lucky bastard, I want to go trekking too, and all my friends are too lazy to join me – it isn’t really safe to go trekking alone around here, in case you wonder why I don’t just go by myself). During the evening we were not sitting next to each other, being separated by Money friend, one I used to go out with (and the whole group of friends) two lives ago, in the famous summer of ’98; luckily Money friend is a heavy smoker and would go for a cigarette after each course, so Guy and I would find ourselves closer, and could chat, and laugh, with the other people. We were never alone, and the place was too small to allow anything of the kind. I texted him on Sunday night, I think, to ask him about his trip, and then again today, because I was in a bookshop yesterday, and I suddenly thought that he may like one of my favourite books, because he likes cinema like me, and this book is written in a cinematic style, so much that Cinema friend and I were playfully planning to adapt it into a screenplay: I am talking of the beautiful “The house of sleep” from Jonathan Coe. I told him about a book he may like, since he had told me that he’s stopped reading, now, and asked him what he liked reading. He replied saying that he likes Coe (!!!) and another one (Murakami), so I remembered that one evening on the bus, back from some concert with the band, we had talked about books, and probably also about Coe and the other one. I was so happy to read that, it was like our minds were connected (of all the people I know, there are only two who know and like Coe…).
It feels difficult at times; and then, I am going to leave in 11 days, and be away for a whole month or more, and then there would be summer holidays at the band, and if we don’t meet at the band I don’t know if I should ask him out sometime, during those three weeks off, provided that I am home and not still in England, that is. I don’t know. This Friday we have a concert, so I believe it will be almost impossible to have a minute with him, except while we carry and carry away all the chairs, stands, percussions and all. Then another week without contact, and then the night before I leave there’s the summer party, and we work all night waiting tables, although Friday is usually a quiet evening. I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t want to think about it. I am happy just lingering here, talking about him, thinking about everything.
Since I left my job I feel so well, and so full. I am never hungry, I feel I don’t need to eat, there are so many beautiful things to do instead, like writing all these words that are no longer clogging my mind senselessly, but waiting, queuing, just a little restless, a shy chattering noise, lining and waiting to be called out, to form rivers of meaning.
Plans of the days to come before I leave:
- book flight (haven’t yet..ops!) (Update: damn, ticket is so high up now! We'll wait and pray....)
- see Teacher friend (Wednesday night, can’t wait; she’s bought the new McEwan too, only hers is a signed copy…);
- register for the teaching list;
- apply for a couple of interesting projects (long story to be explained some other time);
- check packing list and do the necessary laundry to have everything, buy the rest (example: toothpaste for sensitive teeth, or I die);
- go see Gym friends (B&S guy is leaving for Dublin in a week, wish him good luck, he can barely say his name and I’m almost sure he will never understand a single word of what he will be told…);
- meet Gym friend (note to self: send her message for birthday…)
- top up phone (20 cents left…ops2!)
- tidy room properly and clean house;
- keep up with the running routine
- finish book (as I write, I think that this task could be accomplished tonight) (Update: liar! I'll finish it this afternoon, 50 pages left)
- beauty routine to complete (yes, I still am that vain…)
Last but not least, on the contrary, the most important thing to do, and I hope I’ll have enough time:
WRITE. All these words in my mind…I feel so well!

News on the writing side (and little more)

Well…the first thing I thought of while brushing my teeth this morning was..”Damn! The meeting for the website!”. Ok, so, my memory is a colander. Or, more simply, I didn’t care about that meeting so my mind just didn’t record it and set the alarm to remind me. Never mind.
Because I was writing last night! Writing while listening to beautiful music (the cd I would like to make for David…ladies and gents, one more cd wasted…rhmph!). Writing for a whole hour and a half, which may mean nothing to you, but to me it was a productive hour and a half of trance and words. Preceded by one, and followed by two episodes of my beloved. Never felt any better.
Not that this writing is going anywhere, for the moment. I like to think that it’s some warm-up session before the great work begins. And in any case, it feels so so so good.
You know what? I just want to write. And I am so jealous of all those people who take time off work, leave their jobs, whatever, to do researches and write books. Sometimes bad books too. Depressing, that’s what it is. That I should be confined here with too much time wasted over unimportant papers and tasks, and that the fear for my eyes and the pain in my back and shoulders is so bad that spending more time writing for pleasure is too painful and I have to give up. Depressing indeed.
Once again, and again, and again: patience.

And all of a sudden, I am low. Really low. Low to the point that I spent almost a quarter of an hour crying in the bathroom. Low to the point that I feel weak and only want to go home and lie in my bed staring at the ceiling. Low to the point that I feel the need to run and run, and that will maybe make me feel better. I’ve got to wait till tonight.

(Later on...)
End of another day. I am so tired this week, and it’s only Tuesday. I have another hour before I can be at the gym, and I couldn’t resist, I have just placed a massive order for books and dvd’s…All useful stuff for my researches, though, and it’s pay-day in two weeks after all! Besides, I am not going to buy the camera, so the hundreds of euros I’ve just saved can be used (some of them) for other things. I deserve a little satisfaction, don’t I?