So much to do, so little time.

We're down to the final stretch in this grand Italian adventure . . . I've been here for almost three and a half months, and I only have fifteen days left. At first, I felt really bad about not blogging about my experiences, seeing as my roommate has been religiously updating hers. After a few moments though, I realized that no matter what happens, the things that I've experienced in this time and place were for me, just as blogging is. Now has come a time, however, when I feel it's right to blog. Not out of necessity for those readers who happen to be perusing the internet, but for me.

These past three months have been everything for me. So much so that I'm honestly not even sure how I feel about going back home. Well. Not true. I know pretty damn well. I'm terrified, I'm excited, I'm depressed, I'm relieved, I'm torn. Absolutely torn.

I want to go back, I want to leave my immature, obnoxious roommates behind and live my life without them. I'm excited to see my family, I know I'm going to cry once I land in the airport. My mother doesn't even look like herself anymore, she's lost so much weight (I'm really proud of her for that). I miss my dog. So much. I keep seeing dogs around Florence, running around all happy, and then I'll have a Skype date with my mother, and my pathetic 7 pound poodle will be sitting there, not sure where my voice is coming from, but perking up every time he hears me call him "Boober." I miss my dad. I miss my sister. I miss my mother, but I'm terrified of what's going to happen when I get back home.

I'm terrified of being stuck. I'm terrified of reverting back to the same clamshell that I was. I'm terrified I'm going to be content with where I am, that I won't want to be out and about, I'll just want to stay at home and do nothing. I'm still terrified that I'm not going to be outgoing enough to make the first move, to say hello, and put myself out there.

You know. I was hit on. Several times by many different men of many different ages. I even had a drink bought for me. Granted, he was old and kinda a creeper, but if I could get a free Bulmer's out of him, I was just gonna go with it until I was done drinking said Bulmer's and then peace out.

My point? Something clearly has changed in me. I don't know if it's physical, or mental or what, but something's changed, and I know that if I put myself out there, something can happen.

And as much as it pains me to think about my fears of going back home, I'm excited at the same time to show the States what I've become. I know I've grown. I know I've changed, and I can't wait to show everyone who I am.

I've never been so confident in myself as an artist. People can say they love your work time and time again, and that's all good. But when you can stand in a room full of other artists and actually say "Wow. This is something" . . . It's a good feeling. I nailed this last assignment. I can draw. I can paint. And if I do say so myself, I'm pretty damn good at it. I may never sell a painting in my entire life, but the point is, I know I have the ability to create good work. And this? This has only made me more excited to go back home and work on the thousands of ideas that I've been keeping bottled up this entire semester, not to mention finish projects that I have at home. My art, just like blogging, is for me. When I start working, sure, there will be compromises and comissions, but when it comes down to it, I will always find time for myself and my art, because that is how it should be.

I've also never realized how important music is in my life. I've always talked about how I can't live without music, but I never really understood that feeling until these past three months. For this entire time, I was without a piano. I came across one once and was able to play . . . it was one of the most heavenly feelings in this entire world. I can't play worth crap. It takes me months to figure out one decent length song and I get frustrated every single time I try and try to get something right. I never realized however, how much of a stress reliever that was for me. How soothing and therapeutic. Almost as therapeutic as putting a pencil to paper and just letting the images flow. I'm dying to get back home to my piano, so I can sit at that old organ bench and annoy the crap out of my parents with my thumping and inability to hear them while I have my headphones plugged in.

The piano though is only one part of it. The director of the art program came up to me one day and asked me what the meaning of my final project was. Honestly, I had no clue. I managed to whip out some bullshit answer that made sense and made her look good in front of the tour group she had with her, but in my explanation, I told her about how art isn't really about the meaning for me. And I know that's a horrible thing to say for an artist, but I'm not going to sit here and lie to people. When I draw, I honestly don't know the meaning behind it. Rarely do I ever draw with the intent to make my viewers feel something specific, or have some underlying drama that I feel I need to share. Normally what ends up happening is I'll hear something. Normally it's a song. And normally, what ends up happening is I see something. It could be for a split second, or it could last, and play out like a mini-movie in my mind . . . almost like someone put a transparent movie screen over my eyes. Sometimes, it flits by and the next thought enters my head like some crazy attention deficit child who can't keep anything straight.

And then sometimes? Sometimes it's stuck. Sometimes it's for an hour. Sometimes it's for a day. Sometimes, it's for weeks, almost as it it's burned into my cerebellum. It's those images that normally make it to paper. The ones that burn themselves so deeply that I literally cannot think, cannot sleep until I've gotten them down. And what's the meaning behind that? I have no clue. If anyone wants to analyze it, feel free.

Again though, the point is, I don't know. I don't know if I want to know. What's the fun in life if everything is figured out? I already have so much of that done, why do I need to have that figured out?

That's the other thing I've realized. Not only that I'm an exeptional artist, or that music plays a much bigger part in my life that I ever realized, but also that so many people waste time planning out the next fifty years of their lives that they don't take time to live in the moment.

Do not get me wrong. I most certainly am one of those people, but it's one of the things that I'm still gradually working on changing. Not everything has to be figured out. I don't have to know where I want to live when I'm done with college. I don't have to know what I want to do with my life after school. So long as I can support myself, get by, live a happy life and not be a burden on people, why does it matter? I have dreams, aspirations, but they have nothing to do with knowing what I want to do. Will I work as hard as I can to achieve them? Hell yes! Will I think before throwing my life down a completely different path? Of course I will, I'm not stupid. What I won't do, however, is let those dreams and aspirations plan out the next 40 years of my life. I'm still young. I want to live in the here and now too while I still have the chance.

I feel like I had so many more revelations (and I know I have), but it's currently 2:08 in the morning, and my poor brain is shot to shit.

So, basically, shorthand? I don't know what's going on with my life right now. I'm ready to go, but at the same time, I'm not. I suppose I'll just have to start looking forward to the next adventure.

. . . Anyone wanna teach me Japanese?