...on my head exploding.
Do you ever get the feeling that you have so many things floating around in your head, jostling for attention, that a fight's going to break out and your thoughts are going to make a run for any available exit? At the risk of having the remnants of ideas oozing out of my ears, I have decided to relieve some of the pressure here, in my very own Pensieve. Yes. That was a Harry Potter reference. Deal with it.
I apologise for what is to follow. It will probably take the form of verbal diarrhoea.
...on the weather.
I mean seriously. What is UP with the mood swings? My guess is that the world's weather man is PMS-ing. Two days ago it was so hot I thought the Verona carabinieri were going to have to scrape the-puddle-formerly-known-as-Krissie off the pavement with a spatula. And yet, as I wrote this yesterday during Medieval Art, the sky was black. It was 4pm. The thundering got steadily closer and the tree-swaying became more frantic. Somebody get Al Gore on the phone.
...on canned fish.
In the past five weeks I have eaten some form of tuna salad nearly every single day. I can count the exceptions on my fingers. This is not good. Can one overdose on canned tuna, I wonder? I hope not, otherwise I'm screwed.
I seem to have missed an incredible day last Sunday. It was to be expected really. Congrats to Joe and Ang! On Saturday I bore witness to a very different type of wedding. The father of the bride was very proud. And I was warned that hers was a family I'd never want to take sides against. Unless I wanted to sleep with the fishes. OK I'll stop now. Bottom line: I watched the Godfather for the first time. Wow. And I mean wow. I am seriously impressed. It was 3am on Sunday 24th May - I'll always remember this date as the day I my eyes were opened to the glory of gangster films. I am hooked. If I buy cotton wool and a grey-striped cat, someone please stop me. Use force if necessary.
...on my sources of entertainment.
A quick shout-out to my daughter and my social date. You know who you are. You have entertained me muchly recently. I salute you. And dance around with my Piglet soft toy, to the lilting sound of Chris Martin's voice, in your honour.
P.S. A collective "heeeeey :)" to the inhabitants of Room 101.
P.P.S. Thanks to Emily, Sam and Charlene for the recent messages :) you made me smile. And I will reply. I promise.
...on Class Trips.
I've had three in the past eight days. I am mentally and physically exhausted. "Pooped", if you will. Yesterday, in Padova, I experienced something very odd. In the space of 7 minutes I was made to feel both utterly mortified and rather proud of myself. You see, I have this professor who scares me a little. He knows I'm foreign, and yet he persists with asking me question after question, bringing my 'foreignness' to the attention of the rest of the class. During his lessons I live in a constant state of terror. Did I mention that he teaches me a Master's course on the theory of artistic criticism and iconology? I think my mask of frozen panic is justified.
Anyway, yesterday he proceeded to interrogate me, exposing my non-existent knowledge of the early Renaissance art of the Veneto plains. A tad specific, but still something the art students here seem to have learned alongside their ABCs and 123s. Needless to say, I was humiliated. But then a ray of hope hit my tomato-red face= he turned to the only Baroque painting in the entire hall. Was he really going to hand me my one and only chance to prove that I'm not completely ignorant, a fraud, a wolf in art-historian's clothing if you will? Yes. He was. I nearly broke out into a victory dance. One of the Renaissance buffs started going on about how the painting HAD to be early Seicento. I squirmed with impatience as I waited for him to finish. Then it all kinda wooshed out of me. Nay, my dear fellow. Early Seicento it was not. And I proceeded to explain why, complete with Sciberras-esque acting out of the Classicist affetti. Lis, Nic - you know what I'm talking about.
My professor kissed his fingers to his lips. The visiting lecturer smiled and said: "Perfetto". I felt utterly vindicated. It felt good. Please excuse my blatant lack of modesty. Try and understand; I've spent the last three months with a giant question mark glued to my forehead. I was getting desperate. I beg your forgiveness.
...on my Bible.
It still hasn't arrived. Ho hum. I'm fed up of having to use internet Bibles for my quiet time. I guess it's my own fault for forgetting both of mine at home over Easter...
I refuse to spend hours in my balcony sprawled on a chair in an attempt to go from white to bronze. I need a cooling device- shower, pool, sea, something! I can't just lie there until I'm covered in sweat, with nothing to look at except blocks of flats. Not to mention the leering men with whom you have to avoid eye contact. Not my idea of a good time. So, until I get a natural tan, white will just have to do. Thankfully most of my friends are Scottish.
This probably deserves a blog to itself, but I'll try and condense my thoughts, as this is turning into a post of epic proportions. I can't take it anymore. Nearly every single day someone comes up to me asking for money or food, or for me to buy the rose/lighters/tissues they're selling. I don't know what to do. Every time I give them something, I feel like I could have/should have given them so much more. And then someone else comes up to me. I look into their eyes and I hate myself for spending three euros on soyamilk, or thirty euros on a dress. The Italians ignore them and tell me to do the same, but when see a beggar on the street and just walk past without even giving them the chance to form the word "monetta" with their lips, I feel like I've just walked past Jesus and spat in His face. Like He set me a test, and I failed. I don't know what to do. Should I build up a collection of lighters that I'll never use? Of roses that will turn black and die? I don't understand how the State can let this happen and go on as though everything's fine. I think about the month I spent in Egypt and I feel like a hypocrite. I honestly don't know what to do.
...on a more positive note.
I can actually sign off with a "See you soon", because I will! Thank you Maltese government, and your eagerness to bring me home to vote for the EP Reps! My mum phoned yesterday, and her opening line was "Kris, do you want to come home to vote?" I think you can guess what my answer was. I will have to study while I'm back...do some work for my thesis...Blurgh. Other than that: bring on the swimming, Dr.Juicing, chaplaincy-ing, CLCing, Community-ing, Y4J-ing, baking and general joy.
Bye-bye for now. See you in eight days!