Semplice parlare con te, e dietro ad un telefono ascoltarti ridere. Capire che è dolce...
... E solo per un attimo, ignorare i brividi che non senti più. Amore raccontami...amore racconta l'inverno che c'è.
I have lots to post about, you know? I could write a long entry about watching Doctor Who and Torchwood and loving them; about obsessing over Babylon 5 and marathoning One Tree Hill. I would definitely have many long sentences regarding the crack that is Blackpool, and maybe, just maybe, I'd toss in something about writing. I'd probably complain about the fact that the next few months are going to be all about the law, the history, and the political science, and maybe the sociology.
I won't post an entry like that.
Because my mother called me yesterday afternoon, feeling lonely and abandoned, because I should have been in Rome but I canceled at the last moment, knowing that my parents were going to be together all weekend. You see, my parents live in Rome and I live in Milan, and my grandparents, the three remaining ones, live an hour's drive away. Often, the weekends are structured so that my mother visits with my grandmother and my father with my grandparents; two different towns, two different sets of responsibilities. This weekend, they'd planned to both be in Rome, and my mother'd made plans...and yesterday morning, my father told her he was going to his parents' house...Leaving my mother home alone. So she called me, almost in tears, and ranted and told me that she wished I'd been there.
Me, too.
Because it's not my fault she married an insentive, selfish, self-centered and egotistical control freak, but I feel like all the rebellion I went through, all the fighting and the war-waging and the resistance I put up ever since I was old enough to understand the concept of having your own opinion were wasted. He hasn't changed one iota, and he never will. He's made her cry, he's made her sad, he's made her feel like she doesn't matter...while she's possibly one of the strongest people I know. To take her mind off it, I tried to make her angry at me, asking for a favor: a poster from the Impressionists' expo she intended to visit.
I told her I loved her, and hung up.
I hope she managed to find something worth her while to amuse herself and to just get her to stop thinking
I have lots to post about, you know? I could write a long entry about watching Doctor Who and Torchwood and loving them; about obsessing over Babylon 5 and marathoning One Tree Hill. I would definitely have many long sentences regarding the crack that is Blackpool, and maybe, just maybe, I'd toss in something about writing. I'd probably complain about the fact that the next few months are going to be all about the law, the history, and the political science, and maybe the sociology.
I won't post an entry like that.
Because my mother called me yesterday afternoon, feeling lonely and abandoned, because I should have been in Rome but I canceled at the last moment, knowing that my parents were going to be together all weekend. You see, my parents live in Rome and I live in Milan, and my grandparents, the three remaining ones, live an hour's drive away. Often, the weekends are structured so that my mother visits with my grandmother and my father with my grandparents; two different towns, two different sets of responsibilities. This weekend, they'd planned to both be in Rome, and my mother'd made plans...and yesterday morning, my father told her he was going to his parents' house...Leaving my mother home alone. So she called me, almost in tears, and ranted and told me that she wished I'd been there.
Me, too.
Because it's not my fault she married an insentive, selfish, self-centered and egotistical control freak, but I feel like all the rebellion I went through, all the fighting and the war-waging and the resistance I put up ever since I was old enough to understand the concept of having your own opinion were wasted. He hasn't changed one iota, and he never will. He's made her cry, he's made her sad, he's made her feel like she doesn't matter...while she's possibly one of the strongest people I know. To take her mind off it, I tried to make her angry at me, asking for a favor: a poster from the Impressionists' expo she intended to visit.
I told her I loved her, and hung up.
I hope she managed to find something worth her while to amuse herself and to just get her to stop thinking