This is not entirely true.
Whenever I ask people if they remember the show Oddville on MTV, they usually say no. It aired in the mid-late 90's and featured everyday people who could do unusual and ultimately useless things. It was kind of like a freak show, but comprised of attractive, scantily clad and often double jointed individuals. I can't imagine why they cancelled it.
Anyone who's ever had rape nightmares about Paul Simon will understand me when I use the term professional kindness. Within a variety of settings, people are unwaveringly nice because there are too many bad reasons not to be. I forgot what it was like to be bombarded with this particular brand of politeness until I moved back into a dorm. Now it lurks around every corner. People who don't know my name smile big and greet me in passing. Without fail. It's not that I'm complaining. I think I just miss having good enough friends to argue with. The rate of concurrence here among my schoolmates is blinding. Even when discussing traditionally controversial topics like religion and politics. Everyone harbors the same brand of pseudo-compassionate liberalism that allows us all to pat eachother on the back as if it's actually ever going to improve anything. I'm tired of agreeing. I think I'm going to change my mind about everything. Not because I really believe it, but because I can, I guess.
In yet another non-sequitur, I am genuinely surprised at the amount of hail that Rome gets. Usually, in the Midwest, when hunks of ice fall from the sky, it's worthy of note. But in the couple of months I've been here, it's hailed three times. It sets off car alarms and frightens dogs for several minutes, and then stops abruptly. I may be the only person who thinks this is at all weird.
And I miss kissing strangers. This used to happen to me a lot. Now, it is a decidedly less frequent occurrence. I suppose I miss being sexually validated or something like that, if you really want to read into it. But part of me is always endlessly excited to find out the subtle differences between kissers. Everyone is a little different. Milan Kundera wrote about this. He said that most women are exactly alike, but there is a one millionth fraction of every woman that is unique to the individual; that is how she loves. I don't think I would go that far, but ha makes a good point. It's the kind of thing that a person can't help but do in exactly their own way.
I suspect my medicine has stopped working. I'm going to see the campus psychologist tomorrow. I have a handful of things to discuss with him. Depression, anxiety, the crippling fear that I am utterly alone in the world and that if I disappeared, nobody would notice. These are all on the agenda. I hope he's not one of those stern, unfriendly Italian doctors. And I hope he can speak English well, because I do not feel like spending 45 minutes trying to explain the term "panic attack."
Then I'm playing soccer tomorrow night. This has become a favorite activity of mine. I'm not very athletic, but I genuinely miss the rush of competitiveness and aggression that one gets from playing a contact sport. It helps burn off a lot of stress. And then we all get drunk on cheap beer. I'm going to miss it when I come home.
In closing, I think I'm coming down with a cold. I manged to escape the various pandemics that have floated around the dorm the past few months, but I probably haven't been eating well enough, so it's not really that surprising that I should get sick. I'm running low on Zicam, and now that I know Airborne was a scam, that won't help me much. At least Italy is not experiencing a dearth of oranges.
Thought provoking quote of the day:
"So this is what the volume knob's for."
-The Mountain Goats
Anyone who's ever had rape nightmares about Paul Simon will understand me when I use the term professional kindness. Within a variety of settings, people are unwaveringly nice because there are too many bad reasons not to be. I forgot what it was like to be bombarded with this particular brand of politeness until I moved back into a dorm. Now it lurks around every corner. People who don't know my name smile big and greet me in passing. Without fail. It's not that I'm complaining. I think I just miss having good enough friends to argue with. The rate of concurrence here among my schoolmates is blinding. Even when discussing traditionally controversial topics like religion and politics. Everyone harbors the same brand of pseudo-compassionate liberalism that allows us all to pat eachother on the back as if it's actually ever going to improve anything. I'm tired of agreeing. I think I'm going to change my mind about everything. Not because I really believe it, but because I can, I guess.
In yet another non-sequitur, I am genuinely surprised at the amount of hail that Rome gets. Usually, in the Midwest, when hunks of ice fall from the sky, it's worthy of note. But in the couple of months I've been here, it's hailed three times. It sets off car alarms and frightens dogs for several minutes, and then stops abruptly. I may be the only person who thinks this is at all weird.
And I miss kissing strangers. This used to happen to me a lot. Now, it is a decidedly less frequent occurrence. I suppose I miss being sexually validated or something like that, if you really want to read into it. But part of me is always endlessly excited to find out the subtle differences between kissers. Everyone is a little different. Milan Kundera wrote about this. He said that most women are exactly alike, but there is a one millionth fraction of every woman that is unique to the individual; that is how she loves. I don't think I would go that far, but ha makes a good point. It's the kind of thing that a person can't help but do in exactly their own way.
I suspect my medicine has stopped working. I'm going to see the campus psychologist tomorrow. I have a handful of things to discuss with him. Depression, anxiety, the crippling fear that I am utterly alone in the world and that if I disappeared, nobody would notice. These are all on the agenda. I hope he's not one of those stern, unfriendly Italian doctors. And I hope he can speak English well, because I do not feel like spending 45 minutes trying to explain the term "panic attack."
Then I'm playing soccer tomorrow night. This has become a favorite activity of mine. I'm not very athletic, but I genuinely miss the rush of competitiveness and aggression that one gets from playing a contact sport. It helps burn off a lot of stress. And then we all get drunk on cheap beer. I'm going to miss it when I come home.
In closing, I think I'm coming down with a cold. I manged to escape the various pandemics that have floated around the dorm the past few months, but I probably haven't been eating well enough, so it's not really that surprising that I should get sick. I'm running low on Zicam, and now that I know Airborne was a scam, that won't help me much. At least Italy is not experiencing a dearth of oranges.
Thought provoking quote of the day:
"So this is what the volume knob's for."
-The Mountain Goats