The Breakdown

Last night was the low point of my trip so far. I thought I was handling everything well, and I really am, just not as well as I originally thought. I have been really spacie the past couple days and haven’t remembered little details well. I think so much is being put on me so quickly, my brain is yelling to slow down. I guess I should have recognized my spacieness as a sign, but this is me we are talking about. It had to yell at me to tell me what I needed to hear/didn’t recognize. Sunday, I went with my host mom and sister to a place on the other side of the Arno, which is more scenic. The view was incredible! I don’t think anyone could look at it and not be impressed. So stunning. We then went to a church, San Minatra (I think that’s the name, my host mom is hard to understand sometimes). It was also absolutely stunning. Such detail and history is rarely found in the US.
Continuing the emersion weekend with my family, they drove me by several churches in the city as well as the Biblioteca Nationale Centrale, Maria Novella, and other places such as a park that has concerts until the end of September, a market that has great vintage on Tuesday mornings (Yes, please!), and I can’t remember what else. After a day (and a week before), of many adventures and so much detail, I was mentally exhausted. I am so eager to learn everything about the goods, the bads, the problems and any details about Florence. Every opportunity I have, I ask question after question to the locals (some are very willing to talk to a little ole student like me), and my host family especially. I feel like I need a tape recorder because I can’t remember even half of the answers to stuff I ask, but back to the point.
After almost a full week of this, I found myself in an English church service, thousands of miles away from my mommy and daddy, ready to cry my eyes out because I was so tired (I had to contain myself, I was in public after all!). I was sitting there thinking how this has been great, but I am ready to return to my real life. What the crap am I doing here? It’s gorgeous and amazing and I absolutely love it, but at the same time, I miss my other life also. It’s like I’m living a dream. Everything has been removed from my reality, and Florence remains. Even now, I can’t put the feelings into words. So after a rather difficult service, I really just wanted someone I could “click” with. A friend who would open up totally to me, even after a few minutes. Someone I could be myself around almost immediately. As most of you that know me fairly well know, stuff has to click with me. I can basically never explain what I am looking for or after the “click“, what it is that finally did the “clicking”, it’s just something about me, and at that moment, I was desperate for it. Well, the service ended and the rather small group of us moved up to the kitchen for drinks and a snack before heading home….I found that “click”. The graduate school, married couple is basically my age and here for the semester. I left with the greatest relief. I was so relieved I walked home at night by myself, stupid move in hind sight. The guys here are so rude. My host mom is the greatest though. I came home 1.5 hrs. late for dinner, she knew where I was though. I was so sorry, even now I feel horrible! But she greeted me with “What’s happening?” and a delightful expression. She wasn’t upset or anything. She is very protective so I was surprised she didn’t give me a comment about it.
Maria is very motherly though. Much more so than I thought she would be. I tried to leave the house with wet hari one day, she said, “Best to dry hair before leaving. Cold in mornings.” So I dried my hair. She also commented once, “You don’t each much” and tried to get me to eat more. What am I suppose to say to that? I eat like normal. I have noticed since then, she gives me my piece of xyz, then cleans the bowl and gives it to me also…trying to get me to eat more? That’s not a bad thing because I have basically gone to 1.5 meals a day. I don’t like the sandwich meat here. Mom and dad, you know how picky I am about that type thing! After I got home late Sunday night, Maria was forcing more and more pizza down me because she discovered I loved the sauceless kind. “It makes me glad you get pleasure from my cook” was her reaction, in a strong Italian accent. She even smiled. A smile! That is a first. I like it.

I started classes Monday. While studying my Italian numbers, I was immediately struck with the feeling that Italian is so much easier than French. I can actually pronounce stuff! I think it’s the mix of unconsciously hearing it all day and my Spanish during public school years.  yay!

Lastly, I can already tell that when I eventually have to return from the dream, it will be a little difficult transitioning back. In Firenze, there are no Wal-Marts or Food Lions. There are “supermarkets” but they hardly warrant the name. So, if you have a long list of things to get, you have to go to many different stores. The stores specialize in little things such as books, stationary paper, lingerie or whatever, and almost everyone of them is smaller than any store found anywhere in the US. Still, I bet the transition moving here is harder than moving back to the life I have always known.