It is precisely because I have so many stories to tell that I have said none of them lately.

And because there is so much I still want to do that I have done nothing at all. I've been trying to write about what I've been up to lately, but I've been having trouble. If only you knew how many times I have sat down to write or to upload photos, only to have found ingenious ways to procrastinate. There are so many thoughts that I wish to share. The keys just rattle under my fingertips with emptiness, with backspaces, with expectations, and with sighs.

I want to tell you about how tired I am of procrastinating. I've always been a procrastinator. If I really think about it I think it's because I'm afraid of doing something inadequate. I'm afraid of my inability to do what I want to accomplish. So, I instead think about doing it, how I will do it, and end up not doing it.

The days are bleeding into each other. It is so cliche to say that, but I understand why people do say it. The weeks are disappearing so quickly, and though each day seems uneventful, when I look back they have stories to tell.

I want to write. I want to write something good, that expresses what I am thinking. But when I sit down to write I have no words and no thoughts to organize. I give up, disappointed, then the next day feel motivated to capture everything I hear and feel- every clue, every sign that tells me there are stories to be shared and lives to document. I walk through my day ready to capture these moments. I want to write about them so they are not forgotten. These things though, I don't think I could ever forget because they are things we all see and feel and experience on a regular basis. Maybe that's why I want to never forget these things, wanting to capture them forever. These little details about my days are what make up my experience here.

"I have worn the dust of many foreign streets, but to brush it off would surely be a crime. I have the memories of many foreign adventures, but to forget them, would surely be a sin. So, breath in the dust, and keep the memories in."~ Rowland Waring-Flood

I've been in Italy for a while. I've still got a bit of time to go, so my perceptions of this country may change during that time. My life here has become my life. Often the days seem mundane and predictable. The food here has become normal. The language has become normal. The man on the corner of the street playing the accordion has become normal. Cultural differences have become normal…Things that may seem exciting to someone who isn't here have become normal to me, which makes me forget that not everyone knows about life here and not everyone gets the chance to live in another country. I've been so fortunate to have the opportunity to get to know this place so well.

Words

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous ones we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be good as fingers.
They can be trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.

Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.

Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren’t good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.

But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Word and eggs must be handled with care
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.

-Anne Sexton