Oh, the fretting and insanity.

Sorry guys, I'm not currently sitting in my underwear right now. I do have them on, but they are accompanied by a wonderful pair of yoga pants this time.

. . . Not that it matters. Haha.

Today was the first official day of classes, and you know what? I looked friggin' adorable. I had on this cute vintage-looking dress from American Eagle, these adorable ballet flats and a cute black cardigan. My first class was Garment Construction, followed by Italian.

And holy shit, I couldn't have been more miserable.

You would have thought that it was the first day of classes, everything was going to be beautiful, going over syllabi and the basics of the classroom. Yeah. No.

Garment construction consisted of sitting there, going over the syllabus, (vaguely) going over how to use a sewing machine, introducing us to the dress form and important seams and looking at some Italian designers. After that though, we took a break, and then proceeded to walk over hill and dale to a fashion book store where we got to look at a super expensive Trend Forecast book and then get our first few supplies for the class.

Now, you're curious, no? How could that be a bad start to a day?

First of all, machines. I know how to use mine. Incredibly well. I also know how to use the Singer that they have in the studio. Incredibly well. Fuck, I even know how to use a surger already. It almost killed me when the teacher painstakingly went over every single detail about the machine. And she's doing it again on Monday.

So your next question is probably something like, "Well. Why don't you just drop the class, or ask her if she can give you more advanced projects?"

1. Because I'm a chicken shit.
2. I don't want her telling me "Well. You don't know this, or this, or this."

I mean, I didn't know everything about the dress form. That part was useful. And getting to know Italian fashion was kinda fun. However, I've come to the conclusion that "Ready to wear" Armani, Versace and Ferrè are not for me. Especially Versace. Ew.

I mean, come on; wool, vinyl, cotton and leather, all in one outfit? Goodness gracious, Donatella, choose like, two and stick with it! And the color choices were horrifying. A borderline neon shade of periwinkle with black and brown. Oh, yeah. Those were chaps, by the way. Effin' chaps. Who the hell wears chaps?

As soon as we started walking, I was even more miserable. I had no idea we were going halfway across the city to find this little shop. The shoes I wore were not meant for walking distances in. They were meant for going to school and coming back. I have thusly decided that they are no longer practical, and therefore, I must throw them away. However, I shall not do so until I buy myself a cute pair of comfortable Italian flats.

So we get to this store, and she has us sit down. All she keeps talking about is this name brand designer, and that name brand designer. I signed up for this class so that I could figure out how to make my own clothes, not to gossip about these overpriced (tasteless, in my opinion), snobs. The last thing I wanted to do was spend five euros on a series of Italian Vogue, when I honestly wasn't even sure I wanted to stay in the damn class. Then we had to walk to this little shop where I had to deposit another six euros for scissors and chalk. Wtf, man. Wtf.

Oh. And then we got to book it back to school. We were across town, it was 3:50, and we had to be there at 4 for our next class. I currently have two lovely blisters, and scabs on my heels where my shoes decided to tear away the blisters that were there and constantly rub. I wasn't happy. At all. If that wasn't already obvious. Haha.

Salvation came from a lovely woman named Matilda (Matilde? we can't figure it out). She is the Italian professor. She's down to earth, real about the language, and very understanding. Not to mention a blast to just hang out with. She did, however, propose that we go walking (again) to a bookstore down the road and around a corner. I wasn't too happy about that, but I did end up finding out that one of her favorite books is The Count of Monte Cristo. Way to go, Matilda/e, you just earned yourself a gold star.

What I came to realize though, is that this day had so much potential, and yet, I let it slip away because I was far too focused on the pain radiating from my feet to notice anything else. Some of the stuff from Enrica's (Garment Construction professor) class actually was interesting, and after actually cracking open the huge packet of Vogue magazines, I've learned to discover that my likings may not be towards Versace, Armani and Ferrè, but Haute Couture? That's where it's at.

I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally exhausted. Thinking in two languages is difficult enough. Fighting with yourself in two different languages is just about torture. However. I am about to do yoga, and I am about to kick ass at doing the little bits that I know, because I know that in the end, today was just another little bump in the road.

Yesterday, oh, yesterday was amazing.

It finally felt real. All of it. It finally hit me.

I woke up at about 9-ish. Rolled out of bed. Showered, put on clothes, that whole shindig. I then proceeded to go to the market, all by me onsies. Florence is such a beautiful city. I got peaches, an onion and some more mozzarella. Then I proceeded to walk back, make fresh marinara sauce, and get it in the fridge just in time to go finish the sketcbook we had started to make during orientation on Monday.

I finished my sketchbook and walked back to the apartment. I then proceeded to have a nutella and jelly sandwich along with some yogurt. After that, I took a blissful nap. A solid hour of such deep sleep, I almost didn't want to get up. I did, however, and went to Italian, where we all decided to walk to the other side of town again to get tickets to the opera. Unfortunately, we came too late, and though we had a number, they were only on 28 when we left, closed in a half an hour, and we were like, 41. They were calling a number every 3 minutes or so.

When we were in the process of walking back, Matilda/e wasn't sure what to do, so she simply looked at us and asked the most heavenly question:

". . . Do you guys want to get some ice cream?"

We did, and it was wonderful. By far the best gellato I've had yet. Hayden and I have even decided that if we want gellato, we're going to work for it. The place we went to is on the other side of the river, but it only costs a euro-fitty for what normally costs either two euros or two-fitty. On top of that, the flavor was just so rich, and so creamy . . . I'm salivating right now just thinking about it. It's insane. If I wasn't so tired, I'd hoof it across town to get me some. I had chocolate orange (ciocoaranciata) and strawberry cheesecake (formaggia di torta con fragola). Hayd ended up getting dark chocolate (fiondantè) and caramel cream (cremcaramel). Dear lord. Yum. Yum yum yum.

Sitting outside that little gellateria . . . it was so blissful. I was so happy. I was sitting in the middle of Florence, staring at the Arno River, Ponte Vecchio to my right, in the birthplace of my Great-great grandmother. Granted, I don't know if she was born in Florence, exactly, but she was definitely born in Italy.

As we walked across the river to get back to the apartment, it just kept hitting me in waves. All throughout our trek back, I had to hold back tears. I clutched my hand to my chest, and again, that feeling of emptiness was gone. In fact, I felt like my heart was overflowing with emotions. I felt like every step I took, I was connected to her, connected to my past. I want more days like that. More days of abundant respect and love for my heritage.

With tonight's yoga routine, I'm letting go of all of my worries today. I'm not going to think about the 90 euros I have to spend tomorrow on painting supplies. I'm not going to think about the 200 euros it's going to cost me to get to Greece and back. I'm not going to think about the huge invoice that's coming my way for the field trips, course fees and my museum card.

Today's fretting is going out the window, and I'm making room for another wonderful night of sleep, along with another wonderful day of classes.

Volere è potere.
If you wish it, it will be so.
~Some German dude that Matilda/e told us about.

Buona notte, i miei amici.