I'd like to throw oranges at a priest today

For some reason I feel like reenacting all those childish things that happen in movies, or sitting on the counter watching my mother bake bread. I even feel like being naively tricked into cleaning my sister's room (which was admittedly a lot more fun than cleaning my own room - 'Master and Slave' was one of my favorite games growing up).

Maybe I miss what it was like living in the USA fifteen years ago. Maybe I just miss my sisters and I being together (this is likely). Perhaps it's the simple fact that there's nothing I'd like better than to throw myself into the creek behind the house, risking water moccasins and unspeakable horrors to reach the sparse woods and climb trees. Instead I go to sleep late every night and wake up in time to get breakfast and coffee on the way to work, where I laugh and love my coworkers with an intensity that throws me off - I've only been there for five months. When I come into contact with difficult people, I suppress the desire to stamp my foot and stick my tongue out, or insultingly call them "stupidface" before running away to tell mom that they hurt my feelings. But I cannot build forts out of boxes or collect named lizards in Tupperware containers or turn circles until dizzy.

Then I feel selfish for wanting to be so impulsive. My learned behavior as an adult is strong, but my sense of where to apply what I've learned is hazy at best.

Then overpowing even that, I find myself wanting nothing more than to sit on the walls of Domus Aurea and write in my notebook. Keats was my companion and Hawthorne was my guide. Italy was my golden mean. The wonderful balance between childhood and ciliziation was adventure, and my adventure was Rome.