Only 8 more months to be fluent in Italian. It is truly such a sensual, musical, and thrilling language. Even banal words. When I say “nineteen” in Italian, “di-cia-NO-ve,” I imagine whispering it into Marcello Mastroianni’s ear right before he nibbles my t-shirt off.
Meanwhile, Spring seems to have settled in again, and I’m enjoying the scent of the blooming daphne wafting into my bedroom from the garden, and all this brightness. Tomorrow, instead of sun and scent, Emily and I are going to see The Conformist at noon, so I’m trying to breathe in as much as possible today.
My most recent attempt to break-up with BC didn’t get very far. We worked out a list of things we need to work on together and I promised not to break up with him for a while. Are all relationships such work? I remember when I went out with So-‘n-so, and concluded that he’d never find his mate because he had such a narrow idea of what he wanted and no one would be able to conform to such specificity. I sometimes think, when I’m in the breaking up mood, that I, too, have these demanding criteria for my mate and am not going to struggle anymore, and am going to hop in the car and find Mr. Perfect Pants right now! After 8 to 12 hours I realize how much we actually have grown together and that I’d rather not be alone like So-‘n-so, turn the car around, and try to make a go of it again.
So round and round we go, in a spin, loving that spin we’re in.
How do you say that in Italian?