inside Rhodes

Why do I make up words? Because mine sound better. Or, they are at least more fun to say (ie. pensivity). I have respect for the English language, mind you, but it should be an organic exchange. Even if it is across weird particles of digital stuff that I don’t understand. (Please, don’t ruin the magic for me.) America, I’m calling you into action: I am looking for the weirdest, intelligible-yet-not-quite real words for a new project of mine. I would tell you what the project is, but then you would steal it. Shame on you.

I have been midterm-free since yesterday at two o’clock, and life doesn’t give you more downtime than I have at this particular moment. We’ll call it La Dolce Vita, the Sweet Life, full of relaxation and not a single responsibility for another few hours or so. It’s during these moments that I do the things I’ve been wanting to do for a while but haven’t, like take a closer look at the graffiti, read an American book (The Perks of Being a Wallflower), and maybe have a slower-paced blog in honor of the patient few among my readership.

Despite all of the art and architecture, two aspects of Florentine life which are tragically easy to gloss, most of us who are here everyday are more concerned with the market. The food, the boots, the leather bags bigger than my head. Turn the corner and there is a whole new row of stalls, with the same products in a variation on a theme. It is a massive, pulsating thing, best avoided until you know you can handle it with care, like a snake. Right then.

One of my classes has been focusing on Goethe and Stendhal, with the result of me now contemplating that I can make the transition from tourist to student, until the moment I “do” a city instead of experiencing it. Which is odd, because almost every American I know in my program is going to “do” at least two-four cities in one week for spring break. Honestly, I took a tourist trip to Europe already and I think that if I ran through it all again I wouldn’t get anything out of it that lasted. Perhaps if I had more time…but that’s another thought for an older Jenny, because the careerpath of a writer is anything but solid. In the meantime, I’m trying to move around to spend time in different parts of the city, and around the edges and surrounding countryside of Tuscany. Yeah, as in Under the Tuscan Sun, that’s where I am! Heh. Also, I think that Stendhal’s sydrome is a pychological effect that a lot of people experience when they travel abroad.

My last thought today is for Billie, who knew so much about the literature, and even more about our family. Rest in Peace.