There are few things in the world I enjoy more than a long, hot, shower the morning after a bonfire. The morning when you haven't yet forgotten the heat of the flames on your face, but the memory of that heat is suddenly coupled with the cold of the tile floor infusing into you through bare feet. I love the way I can smell the left over smoke sliding out of my hair and fusing with the water, defusing in the steam and filling the room.
I love crawling back into bed for a bit after that shower and that my thermometer reads 101 because the sun is so intense in the window. At night I watch the stars rise in the same place as the sun sinks behind the mountains. I remember frozen nights at the bio reserve, wondering about the existance of black matter, I remember lying on rice mats with Him in the spring beside the Chapel, sitting secretly and silently, just being. And I remember our first New Years eve together. Absolutely frigid, pressing our bodies together inside a cocoon of blankets. I smile and ache a bit at these memories.

The moment I think I have at least a portion of this life figured out the universe sets me straight. "We can't truly appreciate the good until we understand, until we experience the bad, the ugly..." how many times have I said those words? 10? 100? 1000? I don't want to utter them anymore. I have experienced and I can understand. K is in the hospital with a tumor on her pelvic floor, consultations with oncologists tomorrow. I'm sick of sickness. I want some one to be responsible for all the shit dumped into our water, leeched into our soil, all of the poison in our bodies. Everytime I hear this news I feel like I'm waiting for my turn. And so I've escaped from the house for a bit, writing at the Alpi. I just keep writing, maybe nothing to say, but I need the comfort of the pen, some place where I'm in control, at this point this is the place where I know I have power, where I'm in control of the situation. At the same moment I feel like I'm discovering my power in other aspects of my life I'm rediscoving my powerlessness in others. The inability to do anything for some one I love, my inability to comfort from a distance. I'm discovering my arms are too short, my legs not fast enough to reunite my heart in Ohio with the rest of my body that remains in Italy. Inability...I hate that his word exists in my vocabulary. If it were written I would tear the word. I hate feeling helpless almost as much as I hate the irresponsibility of those who have posioned my world. I hate it. It's not often that I use that word, but I mean each sound to it's fullest. And now I need to end it. Release if from my bdoy, leave it here on the page, close the book, and be finished with it. And so I'll end with the same words I ended this conversations with The Dancer;
D: I got tulips for Valentine's Day
M: I got kisses, and not from Casanova
D: And...?
M: And it's more complicated than Casanova.

It's 5:55 Saturday afternoon, I'm in bed. I could sleep until it was time to go out tonight. The ability to sleep anytime of the day or night is something I've retained from college. I'm rereading my favorite book for the first time in a few years, it affects me differently this time around. I remember reading it lying in bed in India, now I read it lying in bed in Italy. At some point in the future I should read it in the US. I remember the first time I read it thinking Kundera's words were beautiful and unusual, unlike anything I had ever read. I remember them being thought provoking and needing to stop sometimes after reading a paragraph to digest what he was saying. Most of all I remember thinking how much I enjoyed the philosophy but was absolutely distant from the characters. There was no way I could identify with them. How this life has changed. Three years later I find pieces of myself in each of them. The desire for freedom within love of Tomas, the yearning for "something higher" in Tereza, and the saucy mistress, Sarina, the only one in control...I too yearn to be weighed down by the body of a man.

In that desire I'm finding myself to be more irresponsible. La Medica warned me to be careful with the Casanova last night, she knows, she's walked this road before. In reality the advice has really only hightened the intrigue. With the brief exception of The Mason I've never done something I know I shouldn't done it because it feels good in the moment, done it because my ego and my body are leading rather than my head.

"There are only 2 reasons you get involved with a Casanova. 1 you have an inexplicable need to hurt yourself or 2 you want to show him you're more of a Casanova than he is"...I suppose every word is true. I'm not sure what my motive is in this. I'd like to say it's the latter, but in reality I'm not sure I'm capable of it. I suppose perceived capacity hasn't stopped me from trying in the past, why should I let it now. I don't think I'm fighting any masochistic tendencies at the moment, so I'm going to go with showing him I'm more of a Casanova than he is for my motive.

Today I played teacher. I taught English for 2 hours at the school in the village. I can't imagine being the teacher there on a daily basis. After 2 hours I was absolutely exhausted. There were only 9 children in the class from 6-10 yrs. I don't know how one goes about teaching children at all different levels at the same time, in the same room. I suppose it's been done for a long time and continues to be done in small villages around the world. It takes a special person to be able to do that day after day, and today I discovered I can happily teach English for a few hours, but after those couple of hours I was more than ready for a break.

After I finished I decided to head over to the Alpi to grab a coffee while I waited for the tobaccio to open, chat with Casanova a bit, and get a much needed dose of caffeine. The caffeine was the only thing I was expecting that I actually got. I walked in, found that Casanova wasn't working, and sitting at my usual table was The Gypsy. He was in Prali working with some people on the upcoming snow board contest. Needless to day I was a bit surprised, we hadn't spoken since he left for London. Neither one of us said much. I asked about all the travel for work, he seemed less than thrilled about it. He asked if I would be able to help with a bit of translation and pronunciation for an English song one of his artists is working on. I told him "of course". I fought against easily falling into the rhythm of things before, just because it was easy and I liked having some one to fawn over me a bit. It took a bit of effort to remind myself that it wasn't a good place to get emotionally involved. I think it might do us both a bit of could to have a proper conversation. I don't want us to feel uncomfortable around each other, we'll obviously be seeing each other for the rest of my time here. I think I'd feel a bit more settled about the whole thing if we talked, we'll see what happens.

True friends play Rock, Paper Scissors, for your turn at picking up the panini in the morning when you're "occupied" in the evening...oh the joys of learning to be irresponsible at 22.

Melancholy, feeling very melancholy today. Like a have a strange need to cry and be comforted. Nothing particularly bad has happened, nothing even remotely bad has happened. I feel like I feel like I have all of this incredible friendship but no love. Not romantic love, but just regular old run of the mill love. Maybe there is no such thing as regular love, I suppose all love is extraordinary in some way. Whatever the case may be I'm in need of feeling regular or extraordinary love. Just some one to hold onto me for a bit. Let me sink back and not be in charge, to let go, not think and just feel how good it feels to have another human body pressed next to mine. There are times when I think that the only way I can recognize my body, soul, or life, is in relation to someone else; the permanent gaze of the other. And now maybe I don't need so much the gaze but the body of the other to remind me what mine feels like.

This house is filled with too many words sometimes. There are moments I find myseslf wishing for just a bit of silence, or if there must be speech, that it is in familiar English accents. This afternoon felt a bit like existing in and of itself was an effort. I'm in one of those moments when I simply want someone to hold me, brush my hair from my face, and hold me. I struggle with wanting to be alone or in the company of only one other person. But recently it's proving more and more difficult to do and consequently I have begun to feel like I am only part of the group and no an individual person as well. Perhaps this is why I'm finding myself in need of more time alone, in small groups, or with the company of some one for whom I exist as a unique individual and not as part of "grupo residente"