This could be just about anything really. All the crap in my head. All the crap in my past. All the crap I want to write about. But, it’s not. It’s about all the crap I have to cart home with me. Where does a year go anyhow? If I hadn’t written about it here, I probably would’ve thought it was all just a dream. I do have pretty vivid dreams. But where did the year go?? And where did all this crap come from? And the bigger question is, “Why am I hauling all of this crap back??”
Today I was thinking out how for the last 5 years of my life I have been living out of a storage unit. Even my last apartment in the States was an apartment made from a basement storage. So, I can actually say, that I live out of a suitcase now. I haven’t had a home in so long I don’t even know if I could ever settle in one place. I think it about it often. I dream about it. I dream about what it would feel like to have a little house with a little yard and a little garden and a porch swing. I dream about waving to my neighbors and having backyard barbecues. I dream about Shane having a little doggie-door and getting him a little seeing-eye girlfriend. I dream about having little birdie friends that come and stay.
But that is not my life. My life is storage units, cardboard boxes and suitcases. And crap.
I am not complaining. I have a good life. I have been fortunate. I have been living in Italy for a year. I have been visiting museums and stared at ancient art for hours on end. I have licked old fortress walls at an attempt to taste history. I have tried to make-out with sculptures that are 500+ years old. Sculptures and walls that have been and will be here long after I’m gone. All these words will have been forgotten, but those sculptures will still be here. I have been getting fat on too much pasta and too much wine. I have been struggling to learn a language that even Italians find impossible to learn. I have been hiking and getting lost in the Tuscan hills, that men with names like, Alighieri, Galileo, da Vinci, Buonarroti, Medici and Machiavelli have quite possibly pissed on.
And now, I have crap. Crap I can’t seem to part with. I came here with a dog, two stuffed suitcases and a backpack. I will leave with a dog, a backpack, a carry-on and four suitcases of crap I
need to will haul back home and stick in that storage unit. I long for the day when I finally decide that I am ready to find a little house, the one with a yard and a porch swing.