This is death.

When I was in college, everybody out of college always said that the life of the student was the best life of all, that I wouldn’t want to work, that work was terrible, hard and life became a meaningless endless circle of banality all sapped of joy.

They were right.

I just spent the last two hours getting home. I was stuck in traffic. There was an accident on the 110 so then I tried to beat it by going local but my stupid GPS told me to go down Santa Monica Boulevard, which felt like I was trying to ride a scooter with one of its wheels missing.

It’s only been four days since I’ve officially starting working the 8-hour-a-day adult life, but I feel like I’ve been doing this forever. By the time I get home I shove food into my mouth and barely have enough energy to wipe off my makeup and just lie down on my bed till sleep finds me. The idea of responding to a Facebook message only tires me more and all I look forward to in my night is to be in my PJs with haagan daz ice cream.

During my lunch breaks I sit outside in the sun. And try to report for my stories for The Ledger.

The life of a writer is difficult. You see the target clear in front of you but all you have to shoot with is a broken arrow that insists on curving to the right. The skill, therefore, isn’t how to shoot straight, but how to shoot against the arrow. If the arrow goes to the right, you gotta go to the left. It might take some time, but you keep trying, because you keep hoping that in the end you’ll make it.

Amore

Love.

The word gushes out of Milan’s streets, printed on the cashmere sweaters and Gucci bags through the display windows. Beautiful men with perfect bone structure stand in the metro, walk past you on the street, serve you coffee or drive by on a motorcycle, all offering the fantasy of its reality.

Love. 

Sickening amounts drip on the dance floor, at the bar, in the clubs, as thin girls in dresses too short and heels too high walk like they don’t want it but sell themselves for it. Tossed around on pink lipgloss-ed lips shopping at Claire’s Accessories, written a hundred times over into notebooks. Cheapened by foolish girls. Lost in dark streets. The hope of it washed over with pain and scars and open wounds. 

Love in a man’s world is a scathing reproach on the word. The word makes me sick. Bitterness bowed out to unbelief. It’s like the tooth fairy. You can put your hope in it, but when the dime doesn’t show up under your pillow, what are you left with? Disappointment and an old rotten tooth that you should’ve thrown away a long time ago.

There is no single word in the English language to convey a lack of faith. Disbelief, incredulity, mistrust – all words of faith negated with a prefix. Why? 

Because it is human nature to believe in something. It’s human nature to place hope in a better place then one’s own hands. Well. I’ve lost hope in love and what it offers in this world. It’s everything that it’s not supposed to be.

…

 

And he whispers.

Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

 

I will always protect you.

I will never fail you.

Rules or The Lack Thereof #2

I have two Italian essays to write (in Italian damnit) and I am instead updating my blog, because writing in Italian is not too exciting for me as of yet considering my grammar is equivalent to a 5-year-old’s.

Perhaps worse.

In reference to my last blog entree on Italian rules (for those who are avid readers), I finally found where all the rules are in this country: in Italian class.

The Italian language is the most ridiculously impossible language in the world with a never-ending list of verb tenses. In English we have three: the past, the present and the future.

In Italian there are a thousand verb  tenses, one for every type of invariant thought you might want to say. For example in English we just add the words “should, would, could” in front of the modified verb but in Italian inputting in the shoulda, woulda, coulda’s is a whole new verb tense altogether! Why? Cause Italians do whatever the hell they want.

There is the present tense, the past tense, the remote past tense which is only used in writing, the future tense, the imperfect tense, then they make up a whole new tense called the trapassato, which I’m still unsure what it’s exactly used for and then there are the congiuntivo and the imperativo which are also non-verbs for us but have a whole new set of conjugations here. Each verb has six conjugations, depending on who and how many people you’re talking to. And with each tense there are a list of rules, but again the word “rule” here is used almost metaphorically, like a tease because really it’s not a rule if it’s broken for every other word. Because every verb tense has its own irregulars, which are irregular because they don’t follow the rules but there are as many irregulars as there are regulars so really you just have to memorize every single word with every variant conjugation for every person you would like to talk to in order to have one SINGLE conversation.

I just had 60 pages of Italian homework that was about the use of pronouns.

PRONOUNS! The way the Italians use their pronouns is similar to  NOTHING because it is so damn intricate with so many rules and changes and loopholes that totally negate the fact that there are rules at all makes it impossible to say something as simple as “WHERE-ARE-THE-PUMPKINS?” at the grocery store. THE PUMPKIN!

Anyways, so I’m beginning my first day of real classes today and they are all in Italian because I placed in the Advanced Italian class and according to IES, I should be taught in Italian because anything else would be too easy but really if I am unable to fill out an application to get a grocery market store card then I really don’t think I should be forced to take Italian literature class IN Italian.

Sigh. Ciao.