well so im an idiot and as a result i am still in rome. or...i am fated and guided by God to never ever leave this city and as a result i am still in rome. depends on how you look at it.
yesterday i woke up rather early for my now all too familiar "last morning in rome", and was in the kitchen having my customary "last cup of coffee and cigarette in the happy days kitchen with richard" when ryan, the boy from new orleans walked in, and asked me what my plans were. i told him i wasnt quite sure, but that i wanted to walk through campo di fiori, hit up my favorite coffee shop, say a prayer in a beautiful church, and contemplate the meaning of life on Ponte Sisto, at that spot where if you stand tilted up a bit on your right foot while facing west and leaning forward just far enough so that your fingers touch the top of the moss growing on the side of the stone you can see distinctly the shimmering of the windows of st.peters reflecting all the way down into the river. he asked if he could tag along, and i was thrilled to have such pleasant company.
we went about in the bright morning sun...rome this past week or two has been absolutely stunning weather wise. before this it was rain nonstop, which i didnt mind actually, but of late, oh my god, days bright enough to blind you if you stare too long at anything beautiful and weather worthy of a nice clean sweater and the occasional warm breath into cupped hands. we had coffe at the best shop in rome, a lardo panino at a small shop i happened to wander into the other day, making immediate friends with the butcher who sliced me paper thin pieces of lardo that seemingly melted before i was able to get them into my mouth, and stopping for a fresh apple from the campo de fiori market. we were walking along the street toward the spanish steps, when on our left we noticed a large building surounding an immaclately mishandled and bountiful garden, an orange grove and a jungle within the city walls. theere were large metal gates swinging shut to lock this garden away forever, and ryan grabbed my sleeve and said, well cmon! and we slipped in, past the shutting gate right as it clinked closed. once inside it seemed the noise from the city stopped. there was a moon of old, greening and crumbled marble statues surrounding a peagravel courtyard. fountains were about, turned off but holding mossy water like deserted catholic birdbaths, just enough for a finger dip. in the center a giant tree, branches sunk nearly to the ground with oranges, and it was fragrant and just so obvious and perfect. we went and picked our choice of fruit, and stood in the sunny grass eating the oranges and discussing what in the hell this little oasis was. we found a sign: the spanish embassy. we immediately giggled at the realisation that there were cameras all over the marbled walls, watching us and waiting to pounce. inside we found an elevator shaped like an egg, with a leather bench and stained glass windows, and we shut the metal doors and rose all the way to the top where there was a view of rome toward the villa bourghesee, the spanish steps. after sneaking past the official spaniards coming in from their lunch break (not their free lunch in the garden), we made our escape and wandered on.
in the midst of the designer shops around the spanish steps, ryan points out a store i had never seen before, entitled "eleanora". considering it was my italian namesake, we figured we should stop in and check it out. designer boutique clothes, crystal studded ipods, and in the back one of those old fashioned bars in a dressing room, where they swoon you with champagne and tiny finger sandwiches and encourage you to spend $3000 on a cardigan. i tuned to leave and ryan decided that no, we should ahve a drink, why not, and i should try on that dress id been eying. so we sat, and ate, and i pranced about in a $2000 sequined jacket (not NEARLY as cool as moms copper top!), and we pretended to be rich until the clock struck 2 amd it was time for me to catch my plane.
so i made my adiues again (again!) and made the journey to the airport. went to the check in desk, all stoic and sunglasses and "arrivederci roma" and couldnt find my damned passport. where is passport. have no idea. rip apart entire suitcase, slewing teddy bears and camisoles and stinky shoes all about in a panic. remain calm on outside. return to desk with drivers license, was told is not valid. fuck. oh god. so i call my mother. brain and life seems to come crashing down, because for some reason i am constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown these days, its the combination of homesickness and transiency and constant rotation and passionate emotions, and instead of dealing with the reality (v. annoying, miss my plane, go to embassy, ahaha, back to hostel, campari, will go tomorrow or not, c-est la vie...) im like...its all over. i am a disaster. i should have: gone to france, stayed home, not had pizza twice in one day, studied more, not cheated on that test in 4th grade, called mimi more often, given that homeless lady the euro i had in my sweaty greedy palm instead of buying my 2nd cappucinno of the day...i am going to collapse, i have to go home, i should never have come, i will fail school, i will fail life, i am broke, death, etc.
mother, of course, is totally calm. we laugh a bit. guess ill go back to the hostel. heh. ahaha. hm. is ok. is God. there is a point damnit.
sit and wait for the bus for an hour, trying to talk myself out of anger and doing to math to compensate for the lost money on the plane ticket and wondering where the hell i left my passport. got back to the hostel and they opened the door before i even rang the bell. it was josef, my angel, the manager whom i have become better than bosom comrades with, the best friend of the evil spaniard who held my hand and giggled with me and talked me out of tricking myself into being sad, who dances with me constantly and makes me pasta. he was here! he had been away, the entire past time at the hostel, on vacation, making this return less magical than the others. i see him and i squeal and i throw my arms around his neck and i dont even care about the stupid flight anymore, good things abound!
the night is great, and this mornign i woke up bright an early with a mission: US embassy. i feel very cool, infact, marching ymself in there. is a big long line outside and i walk right up to the front and declare (in my most american accent) "yes, hello. i am an american citizen (i am!) and i have lost my passport!" Prego, the say, and wave me past security, all opened doors and nodding heads and smiles as though we grew up together, know a secret. the guy at the desk is amazing, totally adorable, nothing but american, probobly raised in boise or some place solid with lots of cows, and the whole process, the whole danged process, takes 45 min. they even give me a cup of coffee. in a mug. i am in heaven. by 9:30am i am back on the streets and back in action for real! i rebook another flight to barcelona, call good old freddie and give him the good news, and lord permitting i will meet him on Las Ramblas by noon tomorrow. Spain indeed! hoorah!

ok, have to go now, theres a line for the computer. i love you all!