I don’t have precise dates on these; something goes wrong in Google Reader’s interpretation of Twitter’s RSS feed.
my head hurts so bad I could cry
Occasionally, I get something that is actually identifiable as a migraine. Not too surprising given the stress I was going through at the time.
@pm10 spero che sia anche mamma porno-tolerante – mi dicono che e’ tutto sesso li’ dentro!
A friend was showing her mother around Second Life. I had just tried it a bit myself, and had read that there’s a lot of online sex in there. Not that I mind, but don’t consider it a compelling business venue for this reason. At least not for the kind of business I deal with…
maybe my migraine is finally calming down. I still just want to crawl into a corner and whimper.
@rosso received my second copy of HP from Amazon today, gave it to peppermint patty. Who passed our lunch together petting it. ; )
One day I’m wandering around London with my hair expensively curled, looking at shop windows where the price of a pair of underwear equals the bimonthly salary of some Indian whom I will see in a few days, on the streets of New Delhi.
5:26 AM
A few weeks ago, Ross posted the above picture on her fotolog, of the jewelry she’d been wearing for days, with the caption: “you are what you wear.” A very interesting statement, in light of what she was wearing.
The gemstone is alexandrite, a semi-precious stone that changes colors in different light. My father bought it for me in Delhi in 1977, as my going-to-Woodstock present, and I wore it almost constantly during my first year there. I haven’t worn it much recently (that’s how Ross was able to make off with it) – nowadays I usually wear a golden heart necklace that Enrico gave me, though for Woodstock occasions I wear the silver Woodstock lyre tree pendant that my classmate Sarah got me when I couldn’t attend our class of 81’s 20th-anniversary reunion.
Of course the other pendant is the Om. I think I bought that for Ross on one of my trips to India, or she bought it for herself when we went together in 2005. Or maybe she even bought it in Italy. When she was mad for a tattoo a couple of years ago, she designed her own tattoos based on the om (fortunately, she was still underage, so we were able to veto any tattoo whatsoever!).
Not shown in the photo is another piece of my jewelry that Ross seems intent on keeping: the silver chain bracelet that my classmates gave me at the 2004 reunion, to thank me for 20 years’ service as class secretary.
There’s something beyond mere fashion in all this.
Since this will be a year in India, I was forced to discard low-necked shirts, miniskirts and short-shorts, high heels and wedge sandals: in other words, everything I usually wear!
Put aside is the useless junk, the designer stuff that I’d be ashamed to show off.
I look around, see my usual room – companion of strange moods, breakdowns in front of the mirror, wild dances, and songs at the top of my voice. My bed that creaks, the TV that keeps me company during sleepless nights, old diaries, fashion magazines, Barbies covered in dust, horse models, stuffed animals.
An archive of memories and variegated objects which, up til a little while ago, I was convinced were a big part of who I am.
Every Saturday evening after dinner, I faced my closet with an air of challenge, thinking that, no matter how full it was, it wouldn’t be enough to supply a completely satisfactory outfit that would make me feel beautiful, carefree, and happy.
From the closet I moved to the mirror, to wage battle with my image, my weapons mascara and eyeshadow.
I smile thinking of the usual “stroke of genius” that comes to me every now and then.
Today it was to photograph myself nude.
While I did it I felt beautiful,
carefree,
happy.
Tomorrow I will leave with two suitcases which I hope weight more or less 20 kilos each, filled with the bare necessities.
In any case, I’m always me.
Minus a few costumes to wear.
(However, if I return with my head shaved and converted to some strange religion – hit me!)
Ross will be away for a full ten months (yes, I will visit). During winter vacation, the SAGE (exchange) program kids go on a one-month tour all over India, and, although it’s optional, Ross won’t want to pass that up. She will finish up at Woodstock next May 30th, presumably with enough course credits to graduate with a Woodstock diploma (equivalent to a US high school diploma).
She could theoretically then return to Italy for her fifth and final year of liceo, do the maturità (Italian school leaving exam), and go on to university in Italy – which has the advantage that it’s essentially free (we have paid for it already through our taxes). However, for reasons that I don’t feel like going into right now (because I’m so angry with the Italian school system), that is looking unlikely at present. So there’s a good chance that Ross will go straight on to college in the US, with only a vacation stopover back home in Lecco. Enrico and I are staring into the abyss of an empty nest.
Not that we thought she’d live with her parents til age 30, as so many Italian young people do – the girls do tend to get away earlier, and Ross just isn’t the type to stay home. There’s a big, wide world out there, and she can’t wait to go see it all.
Ross is also turning 18, just a few days after her school year at Woodstock begins. The 18th birthday is a big deal in Italy: it’s the voting age, the age of legal adulthood, and the age at which you can drive a car (drinking age? that was a while ago). Many kids, at least in Ross’ circles, celebrate 18 in a big way. Ross didn’t quite get her act together for a big party, but had a dinner out with a gang of friends. And we’re going to see a show in London, and will be having a few other treats along the way. Anything to keep me distracted from that moment when I have to wave goodbye to her at the airport.
