I. Am. Currently. Sitting in my underwear. Yup. In the middle of my Florentine apartment. Listening to Coldplay mixed with the rush of nightlife that's insanely alive at midnight. It's strange, this foreign land. It screams of NYC, while having such an age that makes NYC pale in comparison. It's beautiful, without a doubt. I've been here for just over a week, and I've already taken over 200 photographs that simply fail to capture the beauty that surrounds me. They'll be wonderful for memories, but they'll be nothing like the real thing.

I can already hear myself calling this home.

There's a pond across the street. A public market within a half an hour walk. No driving, lots of walking. My feet hurt every day before I go to bed, but I adore it. I need more of it. I actually had to stop and remind myself several times that I have four months here. It's not like I'm leaving on Sunday. Part of it scares me, knowing that already a week has just flown by, knowing that the four months is going to fly just as quickly. For the last three nights, I've pretty much laid in bed, being a total nerdbag watching Sailor Moon.

Yeah.

I'm in Italy, and what the fuck am I doing? Hiding. Brilliant.

I feel like nothing has changed. I keep waiting for this moment when everything's going to hit me, and I'm going to realize what my true purpose in life is, but I also know that it's an unrealistic expectation. I thought that being so disconnected would be perfect. It was until we got internet. All of a sudden, I find myself falling into the same patterns all over again.

Oh. Nothing to do? Why don't you check Facebook. How about your email? Have you checked that lately?

And then I realize, it's the same fucking deal, day in and day out. The only email I get is from my professors, or crap from school. And the only messages I get on Facebook are from people who comment on my pictures. "Oh, hope you're having a wonderful time! It looks beautiful!"

. . . Nothing about "How are things? Are you surviving? Are you taking care of yourself? What about your room mates, are they nice?" It only then makes me wonder, was I already so disconnected from my friends and family before I left? To the point where nobody cares to ask how things are? I flew 4200 miles, and the only person who's talked to me about it is my mother. Who, bless her soul, can't help but miss me every damn day. Clinically depressed now. Partially because of me leaving, partially because of all the shit that happened this summer. Told me again, on Skype that she'd rather die than fight off this thing. And she said it so matter-of-fact-ly. Like, "Oh, yeah. I still wanna die. Nbd."

I didn't want to have to worry about that shit overseas. I wanted to get away from it all, but it's following me.

I always feel like such horrible child when my room mates talk about their families, and how close they are. How someone wants their mother to call them back. How someone's mother helped them put all their papers in order.

I had to figure all this shit out on my own, bitches. From start to finish, I didn't have mommy or daddy holding my hand. And damn it, I'm fucking proud of that. I drove my ass to work every morning. I made the money to get my ass here. I put all of my paperwork together, I made sure it was in order, I made sure I had five copies of everything. I paid for my passport myself. I paid for my housing deposit by myself. And I'm still paying. For everything. By myself. It scares me to think that I might not have enough, and I may have to ask my parents for money. I don't want to do that. I want to be grown up, make the right decisions, and know how to budget. Even if it means living on nutella and jelly sandwiches.

Have I grown up too much though? To the point where nothing matters anymore, and I'm just stuck in middle-class society where all I can think about is how I spend my money and how I don't want to be stuck?

We made sketchbooks in orientation today. It was nice. I chose this beautiful grey and white almost baroque looking flower pattern, with a Burgundy binding. It's really pretty. I thought that it would finally spark something in me to get a little more creative, to get everything flowing in the direction that it's supposed to be going, but it didn't.

It was just another thing to add to the piles of crap I have at home.

I want to be cut out for this lifestyle. I do. But I can't help but feel like I'm not. So many of my room mates can't wait to start creating. To start the next process of their adventure. I'm still waiting to be inspired. I guess I'm still waiting to let go. To have that moment where everything comes to a complete halt, and I have my moment of "Well shit. This is what it's all supposed to feel like? What the fuck have I been doing with my life?"

I'm caught between fantasy and reality right now. There's so much that I dream of happening, but it's like I'm incapable of actually making them happen. Where's my change? Where's my adventure? Where's my whirlwind romance? Where the fuck is my life going?

I need classes to start. This entire past week has felt like nothing but a vacation. A beautiful, blissful vacation. I need to start creating again, I need to remember why I came here, and why this trip was so important. Right now, I'm trapped in fantasy. It's like I'm on some Hollywood set, and any day now, they're gonna pull all the facades down, and I'll be back in Rochester. It still hasn't sunk in completely that I'm in Italy.

All my life, I've been waiting to get here. Now, here I am. So what the fuck am I waiting for now?

Where's the unbridled beast that I promised to unleash on the city?

All I know is that I need to find her.

Fast.