American Girl in Italy

How does the blue mold get in Gorgonzola? Have you ever heard the rocks at Castiglioncello sing and why do writers always seek solace in Italy? Time for me to find the answers to these and see, if in doing so, I also find my home.

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Location: Rome, RM, Italy

i am actually the lost royal heir to the small kingdom of Birundi...having been secreted away by my wet nurse when mean overlords arrived turning our little known, yet terribly chic fiefdom into a nasty republic. now my people sit glued with their eyes glazed.....dreaming of distant IRA's and stock options, having long forgotten the taste of sweet green olive oil and the scent of rosemary.

24 July 2007

Curious minds want to know

Yeah, yeah yeah, I know I haven't been writing much of anything here in these days....but whilst running away from the Hare Kirshnas, who had just bumped into that rabbi dude who is always conferring with my therapist, who said a hypnotist he knew thought a life coach would be right for me I suddenly found out that I could possibly have the big C word.

And with this panic inducing "oh! shit!" fear I can't even begin to think clear enough to listen to the goodly advice proffered by said stellar life coach Curt. How am I going to straighten out the life that is my mess when said life could be rudely interrupted or at least significantly altered.

And how can I do much of anything at all when 90 percent of my time is spent racing around getting every medical test known to man, (sometimes two or three times each) at two or three different places?

Maybe I should give the idea of coaching up for a little while and spend my remaining days working at a bordello (how else am I going to pay rent next month on top of all these bills).

I think I can learn everything I need to know about life in a house of ill repute. Where else can I spit on such repressed puritanical life threatening fears the medical ninnies have "stai tranquillo'd" into my brain and solve complex mathematical puzzles if not in the presence of all those dirty, half naked, coworkers speaking in fake accents? (French of course)?

Blue, I think I will paint the ceiling blue....

ps...there are not enough batteries in the world to explore the inner recesses of my currently confused mind...

2 Comments:

Blogger Maria said...

Breathe my friend ... remember.

July 26, 2007 6:37 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Lynda

Did I tell you that you remind me of Jean Butler!!! Also a beautiful articulate artist!

Irish Fox or Little Fire (you decide)

July 31, 2007 12:38 AM  

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