Life is a shitstorm.

Pretty much. It's up. Its down. It's round and round. It's stressful. It's enlightening. It's curious. It's insanity. It's revelations.

I always have periods in my life where things just seem out of control, if you can't tell by my last few posts. The thing is, I'm not an angry person. I'm a lover. What happens in this blog is generally where I let myself explode before I explode at someone else, and when all is said and written, I look at it, read it, realize that everything will be okay, and move forward.

Lately, things have been calm. In a sorta stress inducing calm. Life has slowed down a bit, while still keeping it's steam-engined pace, accelerating faster than I have time to think. Summer is flying by, but luckily, I still have two whole months to enjoy the sun, bathe in beautiful ocean waters, and live it up.

I'm not worried though. Things are slowly falling into place. It's been a summer of learning, hoping, praying, adventuring, reflecting and renewing.

So, for once, here's a happy blog update, rather than a rant filled one. :)

And all at once, they come surging in.

Emotions.

Fickle little fuckers, aren't they?

See. I've got this thing. This problem. I build walls. Huge walls. I have walls my friends and family don't even realize are there. And why do I have these walls? I've got issues, why the hell else? Not gonna lie, I'm a little screwy. Been through some shit, and some more shit, and yeah, it's help me grow as a human, but it also forced me to build these walls.

Now. Occasionally, someone comes along, and somehow, that someone cracks the codes and gets in. They seem intrigued by the mess that is me, and they care to take a gander. Well. See. The problem is, they don't end up liking what they find, and they high tail it out of here. For some reason or another.

So what happens? Vacuum effect.

They leave this gaping hole, and everything that I was trying to keep out comes rushing in, like I'm some fresh kill that needs to be devoured.

And I know what we're all thinking. "Oh, little Miss Drama. Seriously? More of this emo bullshit?" I'm sorry that this is the only place I feel I can vent like this without being coddled or hurt again, so suck it, and if you don't like what you see, then eff off.

I don't like babying myself. I have this habit of reverting back to my five year old instincts of run to mommy, ask her to kiss it better and everything will be okay. Italy taught me that I can't do that. At the same time though, I don't always know how to deal with emotions. Happiness, I get. Elation, I get. Anger, I get.

There's a lot of grey area though. Sadness. That's big one. That one always takes a while to sink in. Regret. Fuck, that takes months. Safety. I don't even remember how long that takes. Sometimes minutes. Sometimes never.

Anywho. Rambling. It happens when I'm upset.

Basically, I let someone in. Or rather, they got in. I didn't exactly let them in. Honestly, I don't even know how it happened. I never do.

And the horrible part? I can feel them spinning on their heel, getting ready to run.

I thought I had built enough walls to protect myself from this shit, but apparently I didn't build them strong enough. And honestly, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take.

I'm gonna go clean now.

Bitch Fest, 2011.

I figured I might as well write this blog before heading over to my weight loss blog and posting there. Because on that front, things are going extremely well.

Anywho.

So. Why is it Bitch Fest 2011? Why else would it be. I mean, I didn't wake up this morning to find out that a lot of the hard work I put into make a brochure needed to be changed (yay). I didn't have to pay off a traffic ticket this morning, for $110 (yay). Did I mention that that traffic ticket was pretty much one week's pay for my second job? (again, yay). Oh, and possibly going to Toronto this weekend. Now, what's the downside of that? Oh, I don't know, the fact that I have no money, and we're basically going for hockey (and going for hockey generally requires you to actually enjoy the sport).

I don't know man. Do you ever just feel like you need to strangle something to make things better? It happens to me, rarely, but it happens.

Things have been kinda crazy around these parts. Three jobs. Potential boy who I can't even tell if he's remotely interested . . .

And on that note. I know. I shouldn't be so willing to hold out for him unless he's willing to make an effort . . . but he kinda does. Kinda. You'd have to meet him to understand. He's kinda awesome. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a fruitcake, but we're taking it in strides.

Ugh. Typically, in my AIM/Facebook conversations, this is where I just slam on the keys out of frustration. Looks a little something like this: "ajwe;fiosr;ghadiosfhao;sdiz;sidhEFU:guwersgo;diafhsdifh;w."

Normally, my roomie loves finding actual words in those outbursts, but I don't think she'll find any in that one. Hahaha.

Love how venting cleanses the soul. Still wanna kick something though. Maybe, tonight, I'll do something useful with my aggression, like go out and rip some weeds from the ground. Maybe. We'll have to see if this lingering ick sticks around all day.

We'll see.

The Insanity of Post-Italian Life.

I can't breathe.

I don't eat right. I don't sleep right, I'm on a mission to get my Italian figure back, and my world is turned so topsy-turvy, I'm honestly wondering if it will ever be all right again. I've honestly had to sit back and stop myself from saying "I have to go back, I have to get back on a plane, only being there will fix things."

In some respects, I feel like it's true, in some, I feel like it will only hurt me even further.

I only have a year left of schooling. I know that if I went abroad again, I'd be stuck in school for another 2. I'd take classes that I'd want to take, sure, but I wouldn't be doing the right things to just get me out of college, and get me paying back the ever increasing bill. 

I have two jobs now. One with my school's library, one with my school's food service. And even though I have those two jobs, it's never enough. I'm fighting every day to pay for things. That ticket that I got back in June? Yeah. 175 smackaroonies. Because I had no money when I came back from Italy, dad had to foot a lot of my school supplies. I currently owe him, probably close to $600. I owe him insurance money, I owe him money for clothes that mom bought for me, because Italy practically destroyed all of my clothes. I owe so much to so many people, I'm never going to catch up.

It's been three and a half months since I got back, and I can't do anything right. Except paint. Somehow, that's really workin' out for me. Aside from that though, I feel like my grades are in the shitter, my life is being dictated by how much money I owe people, and I never have time to just sit, relax, and spend time with the ones I love.

I had a boyfriend. In the three months I've been back. He was great. We never talked, but we did lots of stuff together. Even when I was spending time with him, I was trying to spend time with everyone else. Eventually, I had to come to the realization that we weren't compatible because we never really talked to each other, and our future plans didn't line up. All because I didn't take the time to actually get to know him. I was so worried about keeping him in my life, keeping my best friend in the loop, and making my family happy that I couldn't even get to know the man who told me he loved me. Real nice, right?

Summer is two weeks away. Summer consists of (again) working my ass off. However, summer doesn't include school. I'm so beyond ready for it all to be done so I just have a moment to catch up again. I have projects that I want to work on, paintings I want to do, drawings I want to finish, people I want to photograph, people I want to pay back, family I want to go visit, and places I want to see. 

And damnit, I'm going to do it. All of it. And I'll be damned if anybody tries to fucking stop me. I've been there, bitch. I've tasted my freedom, and it was stolen from me as quickly as it was given to me. I went from being free, to being just like every other sucker who has to work for the man. I told myself I wasn't going back to that, but I still had to. Fuck America. Europe is so much better. 

Sure, our government is better, and it really isn't that bad, but I was just so damn happy, and all of a sudden, that huge light that was glowing inside of me fizzled out. There isn't even a friggin' pilot light that's just waiting for me to turn the gas back on. I have to get a lighter back out and relight everything. I have to find myself again, and I have to get back to where I was. That's what I'm doing this summer. I was someone over in Italy. I was amazing in Italy. I had it all. I was poor as a piece of concrete, but I had the life. 

I told the world to be prepared for the girl who was going to scream out her confidence when she got back, and damnit, I'm doing that this summer. I've got my own agenda. If you want to join me, that's great, but I'm done answering to the man. It's my life. I'm running this joint, and fuck you if you think you're gonna stop me. I don't even know who the hell you are, but I won't let you drag me down. I will travel this summer. I will create this summer, and I will love this summer. 

I'm going to work my ass off to get me back to where I was. 

Take that, social America. Wanna try to pull me down, and make me another drone? Watch me trample your ass. I'm done. 

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?

Two decades, nearly gone.

Oh, what do you do when it's mid-term week, and you should be sleeping/working on other things? Yeah. That's right. Like me, you decide to randomly update your blog. Mhm. At almost 2 in the morning.

So what's been on my mind lately? Aside from loving traveling, stressing about school and stressing about having to leave this beautiful place in a month and a half?

Love.

Love between friends. Love between families. Love between two complete strangers.

I've been in love. I know I have. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm one of the few people who have had a taste of all aspects of love, without them being in the same case. I've had the best friend who loved dates and spending time with me. I've had the person who couldn't wait to hear from me, wishing for the next time we could talk. I've had the man who worshiped my body, who brought me to new levels of conciousness that I didn't even know where there. I've had the unconditional love, we didn't care what people said, we wanted to be together. Love has no boundaries. Skin color, weight, appearances, love is love. Love really is blind.

I keep trying to accidentally stumble into love. I keep trying to find it, but all in the wrong places. Again, I thought I had chanced upon something special, but now I'm so unsure. Not because I'm skeptical of the person who I found interesting, but because I never know if I'm saying the right things.

Being me . . . it's not easy. Everyone says that, I'm sure. With me though, there's many catches. I'm the girl who likes to go to concerts and scream my head off because I know every damn word that's being sung. I'm the girl who likes to snuggle in bed with a cup of tea/coffee and a good book. I'm the girl who loves going hiking in the wilderness for no reason other than to get some fresh air and pay my respects to the natural beauty that is constantly overlooked. I'm that girl who sits in front of her computer for hours so she can play a video game. I'm that girl who, when nobody's looking, watches japanese cartoons at 2 in the morning, just because she wants to.

I've always gotten the feeling that I'm too strange. Too diverse. They say that being open to new things is good in a person, makes them easy to get along with and such. Is there a possibility though that someone can be too open though? Does that happen?

I want to fall in love. Head over heels in love. I want to be so smitten with my man, and have him be so smitten with me that when we're in the same room, we literally can't see anyone else but each other. I know for a fact that it exists. It's rare, but it exists. I'm also no fool. I know that people try to get married these days, and end up splitting halfway down the road for different reasons. Divorce rates are out the roof these days, and I'm terrified that I'm going to be one of those people who succumb to the growing numbers. Either that, or I'm going to be one of those women who just never gets married.

I know I've already had these fears, and expressed these fears once before, but they're still there. Even after I've been here for a month in a half. I still haven't found my Italian romance, though I've had my fair share of grope-age. Hahaha. There's plenty a beautiful man here, but I also know that I can't exactly take them with me when I leave, so why get super attatched? It's hard, being in such romantic places and not having that someone to share it with.

Two decades old in a week. I can't believe I'm going to be 20.

So much has happened, even in such a small amount of time. I've changed. I know I have. I can feel it.

I may not be as confident as I was planning on being, but I've been putting my neck out there, pushing myself to say things, to try and be more outgoing. It's a slow process, and as they say, Rome wasn't built in a day. It's going to take me a while to get to the point where I can willingly walk up to anyone, say hi and be completely comfortable with the fact that I just introduced myself to a complete stranger, but I'm trying.

Even bigger than that though, I've accomplished one of the key goals I set out to do. I haven't forgotten you, per say, because I don't think I'll ever will. You meant a lot to me. I have, however, stopped missing you. I've stopped wondering why you never gave me the chance. I've stopped clinging on to the concept of you. It's true, that I'm lonely, and I miss being in love, but not with you. To say any more would be stretching the topic further than it needs to go, but I'm done. I'm finally finished with you, and I couldn't feel any more free if I tried.

My best friend is online right now. I'm officially giving her my undivided attention, because she's worth it, and she deserves it. Then . . . potentially some meditation.

<3

Oh, money. How you destroy my life.

You know how I said in my first post how I was going to live unbridled? Yeah. It's amazing just how quickly that can all be shot down when the term "money" comes into play.

I've never doubted the fact that the people who generally have more fun are the ones with more money. Simply because they have more of it to throw around and waste on trivial things. When I got here, I had just over $3,500 saved up. Only one month later, and I have $1,100 left in my account.

Yeah. I'm just as suprised as you are.

A week ago (I can't believe it was so short a time, it feels like I've been here for two months already), I ended up sitting down, going through all of my receipts, pulling everything together to see where the hell the money went. 75 euros to this stupid taxi driver who ripped me off. 78 euros for painting supplies. 60 some-odd euros for photo supplies. And then the huge kicker. 868 euros from an invoice that I got from the school. It covered things like the field trips I've signed up for. The Permit of Stay I was required to fill out, course fees, and a museum card (which I'm so grateful to have).

I finally managed to get everything in order, figure out where I was spending my money, and it dawned on me. "I'm friggin' poor. I need a job. Desperately."

Of course, I can't get a job, because my Visa isn't cleared for work, but it only made me realize that in order to pay my father for insurance when I get back, I'm going to need to work twice as hard.

I went to Milan this past weekend. It was Fashion Week. I found a really cute wrap-around cardigan thing and a cute top, for decent prices. And yet when I got back to the apartment, I felt guilty. I didn't need those tops. I just really wanted them to say I bought something in Milan. And then I honestly thought to myself "Well, just don't eat dinner tonight. Skip lunch every other day, it'll help offset the costs."

. . . Yeah. Stupid thought, I know. I'm already not eating that much, and here I am telling myself to eat less to justify buying clothes.

I was freaking out. I was terrified of a comment made to me, that I wasn't going to making through to December at the rate I was going. It was so beyond true. Even though I knew I was going to be getting birthday money, I still wanted to buy shoes. I still wanted to buy a sweatshirt. I still wanted to buy things for my family, I had to plan where we were staying for our UK extravaganza, and above all else, I still had to be able to feed myself.

I was freaking out. This along with other things had just turned me into a mess. I mean, what the fuck. I'm poor.

But then I had two wonderful conversations. The first one with my aunt. I explained to her what had happened, what's going on, and she simply said to me. "Fuck it. Live it up, live your life and make the most of your time there. You're never going to get this opportunity again." I agreed with her, and even without me saying anything more, she said, "You need money? How much? Let me know and we'll make it work." I have a series of rocks in my life. The people who keep me grounded and connected. She's one of them. By far, one of the best women I've ever met in my life.

Even knowing that, that someone out there was willing to help put me at ease, but I still felt bad about having to ask her for money. I explained to her that it wasn't a necessity just yet, that I was going to try to get by as far as I could, and see where I could get, but that the offer meant a lot to me.

Then the invoice came, and I nearly started crying right in the middle of the school.

It wasn't as large of a sum as I was expecting it to be, but 868 euros? That's still pretty damn hefty, considering that's a LOT of food, and a lot of presents.

Finally, I called my mother (via skype), and just started crying about everything. Roommates being shitty, my need for extra funding, and after a while she simply looked at me and said, "Samantha. Don't worry about the money. You're never going to get this opportunity again, even if we do go over together some day. If your father and I need to start putting money in your account, then we will. We'll just keep a running total of how much we give you, and you can pay him back when you come home."

. . . Okay. So. I started balling again. 1 because I felt guilty about having to ask my dad for money. This trip was a big deal for me. It was supposed to be done all on my money. My parents wouldn't have to pay a thing except for the tuition, which made me happy. Secondly, it made me realize something.

I"ve had it so damn easy. I've been living on my parents dime for so damn long. I really am a moocher. Granted, I've been trying to buy a lot of my own stuff recently. Like, I try to buy my own clothes when I can, and I try to buy my own groceries if I'm out on my own.

But seriously?

I want to do more when I get home. I want to show them that this trip has taught me something. I know that they're there to support me when I need them to, but I don't want them to feel obligated to support me until I'm 25. That's not fair to them. For a minute, I just thought of all the different ways I could help them out. Like, give them $100 bucks a month for groceries or something, but even then, I realized it's not enough. My father is putting his neck on the line for me, by footing my college tuition bill for now. If anything, I'm going to work twice as hard just so I can get my own loans paid off faster, and help start paying him back. I've seen the amounts he's pulled out.

And yet I also know how much I can earn in a summer, if I'm smart about it.

It's not impossible, it's just going to take a while.

While I'm here though, I know I need to let go a little. This is Italy. When am I going to get this chance again? Oh. That's right. Never.

Tonight, people are going out. I'm gonna join them, but rather than spend 16 euros on drinks, I'm gonna get smart. Go out, buy a bottle of cheap-ass vodka, a bottle of pineapple juice and pregame like a fool. That way, maybe I only have to spend 8 to keep me going for the night.

I'm not an alcoholic, but damnit, I could sure use a shot a of liquid courage to get that side of me back.

Reevaluation, complete.

More on actual school later, the good, the awesome and the horrible. :)

Ci vediamo. <3