One) Ice-cream eater.

Yes, a very realistic goal that one could definitely accomplish based on the daily. Clearly, as this goal did not require the upmost of thoughts, she moved ahead, satisfied.

Two) Already her palms began to sweat. Somewhere between the last bite of her popsicle and the one sided parenthesis, she struggled with the demons inside that threaten to extinguish any morsel of one's hope or self-worth. Think, think, think...

Damnit.

2) Looker at the clouds by day and the stars at night.

See, overcoming challenges WAS possible and, she added with a sly grin, she'd come up with something of a feat. Not everyone could say they hold both a day AND night job! Well, number 3.

3) Drinker of water (and other liquids, obviously). Now she really felt like she was selling herself short, but one cannot overcome desperation without fumbling with the bra strap for a bit. She was aimlessly walking on the edge of the cliff, except this time, she wasn't looking down and she wasn't stepping away. Too many hours had been wasting cautiously cocking her head towards the furthest part of the crust only to casually look away, pretending she wasn't all that interested in the unknown, the exciting after all.

4) Reader! This was good. Not too far-fetched, everyone reads, right? She wasn't claiming to be the next big, oh wait, is there any person who achieved fame based on the quantity of materials they had read? Probably not. And, point made. So, she would read. Labels, signs, books, magazines. Good, good... Oh, God. Had she really just called herself a "reader" because she was guaranteed to browse magazines? The desire to call herself ridiculous was easing up, persistently, like that damn skirt she had worn the other day. The little bugger just wouldn't stay put and try as you might, or empathize to the extent of your capabilities, and you will probably never accurately imagine the extent to which an unfitted, or rebellious to gravity, skirt threatened this girl's perfectly upbeat outlook on that day. Anyways,

Number 5!
Such a great number. The day of her birth and meaningless besides. She would make this number important, relevant. Option five would be, well, something terrific, really great, she would come up with an option both plausible and enticing. So. Life-long, committed non-smoker? Too hypocritical. Tattooed body, vowing to never regret those three works of art, even when she was old and gray, at the age whenever every "well-meaning" soul told her she'd regret them? No, too abstract, too condescending for such a youthful state in her life. Strike two, but fortunately, this girl was accustomed to the rules of the game (they were her own, in perspective). She would be cultured.

Wow. That came out of nowhere, she sat back reflecting. Up until this point she thought only crap was capable of fumbling from her mind, or so it had seemed up to this point. However, this one, she quite liked. It fit. A guarantee she felt comfortable offering herself up to because she felt quite certain it didn't mean altering any aspect of herself she knew, up to this point and it carried with it a wisp of optimism, a promise she might shine up and stare into every now and then. It also meant she could mine a little deeper into a tavern she stumbled on a few years back, it was a place in her center that was positively delighted with all the subtle differences between her and him and us and them. With the same flowers that grew in Rome, but also at home. With the smile of the child on the metro abroad, that brought the same smile to her lips when she walked into her sister's home and saw her nieces and nephew watching their mother cook. She found love in every crevice of the world and she felt confident that if one of her life's options was to seek out and appreciate cultures, as she had done up to now, well then, that was one option she was happy to include.

Phew, number six. A silly number, in her mind. So close to sex that she often felt like exclaiming that she had a sex-pack of colas at home and sex toes, instead of five. See who would be turning her down after those statements! Who was she kidding, sex was too often floating around in her mind and there really was no reason to relate the quantity with the action, their middles were completely different. Sex, six, six, six, six. Six languages. ATTEMPTED languages, that is. Very closely related to five, but more, as sex often is.

Seven! A faithful drinker of Sprite, as opposed to Seven-Up. Honestly, who are those makers of 7-Up and who do they think their fooling? Too incredulous and inflamed with indignation to stop and consider the absolute foolishness of her own to let this make her list of life options, but then again, at least she had something to be faithful to near the top of her list.

Eight) She promised herself to absolutely, always love her mother. The woman had given her her lips, her life and her button nose. She had inspired her at a young age to not give a rat's ass what anyone thought, even though the reasons for this determination were somewhat fuzzy in both of their thinking. It didn't matter. Her mother's life was full and her beauty only became fuller with age and she was pretty sure that number eight was an option she might always live up to, no matter what lay ahead.

Number 9) A little crazy. If she could commit to this number, she thought, life might actually be a lot simpler. She did this test on herself every once in awhile actually. You see, our girl had this habit of caring too damn much what others thought, at times. So, to push herself out of herself she would think of the most obvious flaw that one might carry, unsuspectingly. Like, a huge splot of brown right in the middle of her pants and then she would walk around with head held high, smiling more at passer-bys with the knowledge of her secret game and less to do with her actually joy at their brief, much too meaningless interaction. Number nine looked feasible and not too harmless, it had potential anyway.

10. Quite a serious number, in her opinion. Even as we aged, the double digits carried with them a certain coming to age type of importance. And, now? What would number ten be to her? She felt that same fear of failure creeping into her vain. Was this, a list of nine articles, half absurd, half absolute regardless of effort, be the result? No. No, she reminded herself. No more backing down because the fear flared up. What a bunch of rubbish and an idea she would never put up with if a friend or loved one or stranger, for that matter, felt the pangs of its existence.

On a dime then, what would she wish for? To push herself this time, she would claim, no more giving up. Enough of it. If one has the stamina enough to form a dream and voice an aspiration that revealed itself to one in the whisper of a dream of as the rainbow after the storm, then she was done being the one to dash her own hopes. Not that she wanted to do much editing or constricting on her list, but as this was the beginning and her whole life was going to be a seemingly large commitment she would place a sort of lax approach on this item. It must be any fully-developed dream or goal and once it was there, once the heartbeat was felt for example, there would be aborting. Well, she always responded to sternness.

On to eleven. Eleven eleven, send a wish up to heaven. That is what she heard, anyways, from someone who quite believed in the positive ramifications of this action and she had been quite fond of this certain person, so it only seemed fitting. Dear Lord, she'd wish, whenever she spotted this duplicated number on the time.

It's been a long time...

I woke up today, the same as most other days. From the place I sit now though, I realize that something has changed. Nothing new, but altered to a time that I have been before or a place that I have lived in. It is familiar, not boring. Calm and peace, yet notably new and fragile. I love this place. I need to protect it. Like  a new mother who has known these feelings in the past, I am without the rules and guidelines of nourishing and caring for another. While I recognize the tides, I am unfamiliar with the path that this sea or flood of emotion will take. Whatever it may be though I would like to never cease following this path. It is one of self-fulfillment true, but I know it will not be led simply for myself. It is from the prayer I uttered asking for strength and certainty in order to be an example of something better. So, I'll search for happiness because it is what I desire, I desire to find happiness to spread the seeds throughout this place. I want to smile, I seek to be loved because only while loving and smiling am I utterly enthralled. When I am thus satiated, in a way beneficial to most, I believe it will be a domino effect in the most simplest of manners. It takes work, like a honey bee, one so sweet that produces a joy to all who try it, must do what comes naturally and effectively to help others reproduce their own beauty.
There was a time when I felt that to search for beauty was a vanity unforgivable, if I were an artist one might have said I was in a perpetual state of blueness. I feared twinkling because I couldn't deal with the attention it provoked. I lacked understanding of a higher meaning and therefore fear reigned in the forefront of my mind. Then, like the simplest of gestures that at once can cease a quarrel amongst lovers, the words came to me that to sparkle is a gift, to hide it is a shame, to fear it is a waste and to abandon hope would never work. Life continues regardless of who opts out of its game. The trees and flowers and birds were His examples. All created by the same, so why would I feel not worthy of the same attention or self-worth? Do the roses hide their colors because you and I so readily accept their perfection? No, they go on beaming because that is their duty, at least as far as you and I can see.
I do not claim the perfection of those I've mentioned, but I reiterate the semblance to our origins. Now I know some who call this science, the workings of nature to create our intricacies and all the aspects of our lives. That's fine. That is fine to understand that we have all come from the same place. I call my idea of this a maker, the only difference is I will not claim to now the "how." Who could ever believe that they know something when they were never present to me is not more intelligent, just one more inclined to have the answers. I would like to think that as the world continues to heal itself and outsmart those who figure it all out that we could take a hint and stop short of just being in amazement at it. I am a curious being though as well, so if you must know than continue to search. I hope when you find the right answers you will share with us that they may be beneficial to all and with all our best interests in mind.
My journey will be a different one, of that I am completely aware. I'd like to study and to learn, but also to live and enjoy. It is this balance I'm still figuring and I pray my life will continue on in this way.

Staying in touch

Isn't it strange how saying "let's stay in touch" can take on a completely different meaning than "I need to say in touch with my emotions"? Quite obviously the desire to 'stay in touch' with a romantic interest takes on a divergent meaning as well.
To say one thing and to mean another, what an odd concept that we developed. Would life be simpler or duller if we erased all of these phrases and simply said exactly what we meant?
I need to, I have a desire to comprehend how I am feeling throughout the day, all day, but at the same time I do not want my day to be ruled by my emotions. Therefore, I would like to be aware of how I am feeling because I think once I am aware, I will be able to match my activities up, or align them, to create a positive flow of life rather than one convoluted with mistakes and regrets. I think that would help because I would know what I want to do before I do it. I just realized though that that would also entail having the logic to work out whether what I want in the moment will coincide and reinforce what I want for my future. That would be a detail I would definitely like to grasp, the problem is that I am unsure as to what I want my future to be. I guess that is why I am in Rome though. I couldn't figure out all of the small details, so I went as broad as possible. I know I like being abroad. I know I enjoy learning. I love feeling alive and conquering challenges. I'm interested in cultures and I like learning the intricacies of places otherwise unfamiliar to me. With all of that said I'm confident now that my decision to come here to take this course was a wise decision. Now that I'm here though I want to make the most of my thoroughly brief time. I want to enjoy the sights, feel brave some more, lose myself only to find me again and to continue meeting people that remind me just how small the world is while simultaneously exploding the idea in my face that I have yet to scratch the surface as some of them have or even because of what they can show me that I didn't even realize I was missing.
I still want to enjoy the small things though and I do not want to chase some mythical being called intellect. I know I will never be able to become familiar with all the places of the world, but I'd like to try.
Today was one of my favorite days in Rome so far. I did absolutely nothing. I sat in a park, listening to an accordion player, who was playing for a group of elderly people and they were enjoying each other and delighting in each new song he began and I read. Ironically, I sat with a copy of Death in Venice, an old copy I picked up on my last day in town and it was coming to it's climax, but I left before the conclusion. I'm always that way. I near the end, but instead of coming to a point of closure I decide to prolong the inevitable. That and there were two little boys riding scooters and playing and I was rather distracted with their antics, so I wondered on home. The day though, was wonderful and relaxing and inspiring. My book is so cliche-ly poetic and I ate it up like a girl receiving roses and chocolates. There is something so satisfying to me about stumbling on a poet's work that is so full of self-expression and lacking in any sort of survival's restraint. I'm not sure if I'd call it hope, but it was certainly refreshing.
I came home and made a patriotic salad full of greens, a sweet and perfect red tomato with a cheese I couldn't tell you the name of, but I know it was packaged in a way I have never seen before and didn't look like any cheese I've ever bought. That combination with a sprinkle of olive oil, pepper and salt concluded my meal and I couldn't have been happier. Home-made meals always do that to me and so far this is day two of what I hope is a continuous streak of American made, Italy provided delights.
Of course, skyping with my mom afterwards was an excellent way to conclude the evening. She and I are, after all, doing our best at keeping in touch.