So, I'm back in the USA. . . it's so strange. I'm still alive, although jetlag and homesickness have me thrown for a loop. I miss Rome. I thought I'd miss Naples most - my love for that filthy, grungy city is overwhelming. Strangely enough, though, I find that I'd give my right arm to fill my lungs with the air from the Campodoglio. I miss it more than I can say. How could I not miss this?
I miss my sunwarmed (or the damp and chilly) days spent getting lost in this city. I miss getting bitten by mosquitoes in Via Pinciana, I miss taking shortcuts on my gut feelings and feeling so proud when they lead me to one of my favorite piazzas:
I went to the National Gallery of Art yesterday, and found myself looking at Italian landscapes. . . against my better judgment. Readers: don't ever let me do this again. You get strange looks from security guards when you start crying at pictures of La Scalinata and Trinita dei Monti.
I miss the not-so-golden banks of the Tiber and Ponte Sisto and Trastevere. I'm glad I got to go back there, however briefly, in January before leaving. Glad that I pushed myself out of bed to go for a walk, no matter how cold and sick I was. I don't even regret getting sicker because of my afternoon spent walking along that river. I'd do it all over again, a hundred times.
I don't know what I'd do without Morrissey. Somehow, listening to him makes moving here a little bit better. I find his music intensely comforting. It's strange how finding an anchor in one place can help you build a new foundation in another.
My blog posts will get cheerier. I promise. . . I just really miss my home. I'm trying to make a new one here, but I think I will have a hard time doing that until I have a room to nest in and a job to go to. Hopefully the job freeze on the library jobs in the region will be over soon.
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