Thursday, July 30, 2009
I'm still going to stick with the count up. I'd like to keep track with how many days I do sing about.
Snap. Snap. Snap - "I don't wanna dance -- dance with you baby no more" - Listening to Lady Linn. They snap I write.
On the fictitious day of 19 I decided it was time to get the hell out of Rome, not because I didn't want to marry it. Something inside knew that if I didn't force myself to leave I wouldn't. I had made friends there. I had a huge bedroom in a fabulous Apt. I went food shopping on several occassions. I was settling in and I knew it.
Here are a few questions I jotted down to ask the Termini train agent:
"How much is a ticket to Berlin? Nice? Paris?"
"Is there a train schedule? When can I take these trains?"
This was how bloody unorganized I was. Reminder: Still phoneless and watch-less. The concept of time meant nothing to me. I ate when I became hungry and slept after it was dark for a long while.
This may not sound like a lot, but the day was shot after the ten hour wait at Termini. The only thing I could do was consol myself with two large gelatos before getting home for dinner. (Don't let the yogurt sign fool you.)