Mozart and The Twilight Zone
I am awakened by Mozart. Having sold my alarm clock in the sale of all sales, I am now subjected to really bad cellular phone ditties as a means of telling the time and waking up. Make a mental note to find my eyeglasses and change the ringer before I hurl the chirpy thing right out the first window I come to.
It's Monday, February 10th and as I write this, I am still awaiting word from the consulate as to whether or not they will approve my visa.
Grumpy and eyes glazed, I find myself packing the coffee inside my mocha with a tad too much intensity....a sure sign that I don't want to spend another day in what I have come to refer to as...The Twilight Zone. The Twilight Zone is that remarkably unremarkable I Don't Want To Be in America (that sounds kinda like an old West Side Story tune!) space or milieu where I am neither completely here in Washington DC, nor in Italy. And it is here , in this tween space that I have been stuck, through some cruel twist of bureaucratic red tape for the last two months. It's an exasperating place where you must learn to let go of one way of living even while you still can't grab solidly hold of anything new. So the sense of unbalance can, at times, like this morning, be especially unnerving.
Defiantly optimistic (or certifiably crazy ) I sip my coffee, standing at the kitchen counter (like the good future Italian, I hope to become) I wonder if my nerves will completely come to fray if this visa doesn't get approved. It was bad enough making this decision to go, finding out that for me, the United States wasn't any more my home, dealing with being ill, but to have finally gotten the nerve to make this momentous change and still have it juxtaposed between wishful dreaming and stark reality, really really, really, really.....
It is enough to give me a permanent tic.
Heck, I have already given notice to my US employer and sold every last stick of furniture I own! And what I didn't sell, well, it all that went into the nearest dumpster (not that it was really all much but still...) what if at the last minute, they say something like "Signore, we have denied your visa request. "
Taking one final sip of my espresso I think of joining the peace corps, helping the Bonobos in Congo,....joining the foreign legion....naaaah i am a pacifist, maybe a convent!!!!!! Anything so as not to have to admit I have been rejected from the one country that I think I might finally feel at home in.
It's Monday, February 10th and as I write this, I am still awaiting word from the consulate as to whether or not they will approve my visa.
Grumpy and eyes glazed, I find myself packing the coffee inside my mocha with a tad too much intensity....a sure sign that I don't want to spend another day in what I have come to refer to as...The Twilight Zone. The Twilight Zone is that remarkably unremarkable I Don't Want To Be in America (that sounds kinda like an old West Side Story tune!) space or milieu where I am neither completely here in Washington DC, nor in Italy. And it is here , in this tween space that I have been stuck, through some cruel twist of bureaucratic red tape for the last two months. It's an exasperating place where you must learn to let go of one way of living even while you still can't grab solidly hold of anything new. So the sense of unbalance can, at times, like this morning, be especially unnerving.
Defiantly optimistic (or certifiably crazy ) I sip my coffee, standing at the kitchen counter (like the good future Italian, I hope to become) I wonder if my nerves will completely come to fray if this visa doesn't get approved. It was bad enough making this decision to go, finding out that for me, the United States wasn't any more my home, dealing with being ill, but to have finally gotten the nerve to make this momentous change and still have it juxtaposed between wishful dreaming and stark reality, really really, really, really.....
It is enough to give me a permanent tic.
Heck, I have already given notice to my US employer and sold every last stick of furniture I own! And what I didn't sell, well, it all that went into the nearest dumpster (not that it was really all much but still...) what if at the last minute, they say something like "Signore, we have denied your visa request. "
Taking one final sip of my espresso I think of joining the peace corps, helping the Bonobos in Congo,....joining the foreign legion....naaaah i am a pacifist, maybe a convent!!!!!! Anything so as not to have to admit I have been rejected from the one country that I think I might finally feel at home in.
posted by ~Sparrow | Monday, February 10, 2003
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