because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

That was some pretty intense make-up sex.


I'm glad we agreed to give this another try, Internet. Shall we celebrate by making out with tongues like, everyday? I'm all about forgiveness, you see. And especially because if I'm honest, many of the most important relationships in my life aren't really working out right now, so it's essential to me that I have you. That bitch Rome? My relationship with her is total balls.

And look, I KNOW. Skyping Calum the other day I made a comment about (SH)Italy and he screamed BUT WHO SAYS THAT ABOUT ROME? and I was like IT'S A THIRD-WORLD COUNTRY PARADING AS A CULTURAL MECCA AND THAT IS TOTALLY FALSE ADVERTISING and he was all BUT YOU SAID YOU SEE THE COLLOSSEUM EVERYDAY and I was all THE COLLOSSEUM CAN SUCK A BAG OF DICKS.

It's exhausting.

My second manuscript is going to be called 'Dear Rome: Screw You' and feature essays on the nature of its backward technologies and refusal to join the 21st century with working washing machines, dryers, wifi and public transport systems that grind the entire city to a halt just because it rained.

Last week, I had to leave for work three hours early because of a storm. THREE HOURS. I only work a six-hour day in the first place. This comes to you from a computer using an actual ethernet cable, like, FROM A MUSEUM, from an apartment that can't have the heating on at the same time as the washing machine otherwise we blow a fuse to the whole apartment block and then it's suddenly like living in Beruit in the 90's except for there I bet you could still get to work on time.

Italians ({SH}Italians?) have a total disregard for queuing, the correct use of the car horn, and proper bedding. There isn't a goose-down duvet to be found, and so I sleep in a sheet that I get all tangled up in and wake up three times a night to smooth out again before the knot ends up around my neck and I asphyxiate WHICH WOULD SUCK BECAUSE THERE'S NO WAY I WANT TO DIE IN THIS PLACE. Similarly, I also refuse to pass my 26th birthday in this place, either. I want to get my Grad School money and then run. Or waddle, what with the fact that with a gelateria on every corner a cone of Nutella ice-cream has become a diet staple. As has a croissant for breakfast. With Nutella. And Nutella hot chocolate. Do you know what (SH)Italy? FUCK YOU.

(SH)Italy has raised a nation of namby-pamby children that directly correlates to the number of namby-pamby adults I interactive with on the daily. Also, the Italian Male eyebrow? I blame mother. I get mine threaded and still don't achieve an arch like that. Oh- except that I don't get them threaded in Rome because I've been advised against that by every expat I know. And haircuts. Don't get your hair cut in (SH)Italy they said. Or see the dentist here. Or get hospitalised.

(Don't consider foul-play with your roommate, either. I watched every second of the televised verdict in the Foxy Knoxy case screaming at my computer 'FREE HER! FREEEEEEE HEEEEER!' because do you know how much faith I had in the Italian police having done a good job with her? ZILCH. Less than zilch.)

Basically, it's no wonder Italy have never invaded anywhere for very long. They need to sit down for an overly-gesticulated chat with a cappuccino (but not if it's after noon- what are you, a coffee brute?) before anything gets achieved ever. And I'm a lot of things, from bitchy of mouth to cold of heart, but paramount? I'm a do-er. And this is a country of talkers-and-let's-sit-down-and-let-the-feeling-pass-ers.

But then.

It's a dysfunctional relationship. When Rome is kind to me, I want to marry her. The food, the autumn light, the uniforms of the carabinieri. And then she does something wrong and I abuse her and tell her that she is worthless and then write bad things about her on the Internet but she wants me to tell her I love her and so whenever we have moments of pure joy she pushes me away as quickly as she grabbed me in because she is testing me. She is testing my appreciation for her. See: Megan Fox in the video for Love the Way You Lie.

This is totally the same thing.

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