Haplessness

Sometimes I feel like my entire life isn't what it's supposed to be. There are days when I care, but then weeks when I don't. I'm right there in one of those weeks. I hate the way I look those days - I don't shave, or put in my contacts. My other clothes are dirty and I wear things I don't like. I feel like I look significantly different this way, and I hate looking into the mirror one morning to find this always unwelcome stranger in my place. But I continue not caring for a while.

Sometimes I'm irritated by everything and everyone around me, even the people I want to be around for the rest of my life. I want to break out and do other things - something that reflects what my life is supposed to be. Away from here, away from this, away from them. I try to imagine my life as it is supposed to be, but I've never managed.

My life is not meant to be anything, I guess. I just need to accept my life as it is and just be happy with it. A lot of the time, that's quite enough. A lot of the time, I'm so excited about my world that I can't hold it inside.

It's just sometimes, only sometimes, that I try to imagine my life as it is supposed to be. But I can't.

My life is meant to be everything, I guess. These days cry out that satisfying yourself with life isn't enough. You always need to be better, smarter, more you. Happiness is supposed to come from a purpose-driven life. I guess that means that happiness is something sustainable - a state you can keep working at because working is what makes you happy. Still, though, I find it hard to believe that God would make happiness so much like restlessness.

Sometimes I'm not the person I want to be.

The Proclaimers never actually did walk, though.

After seven weeks of class and some painful research on mortality while transcending the boundaries of liminality, I made it! I'm going to Santiago de Compostela.

I'm so screwed. I haven't been walking like I should have, so hopefully I'll get right on that. There's not much more I want to say, except... jealous?

Invasione Italiana

The jig is up, Italy. I'm so on to you. You think I don't notice? Well, I do, and I've just about had it with your shenanigans. Leave our sandwiches alone.

You heard me. I'm serious. Oh, what's that you say? You don't know what I'm talking about? Well, let's just go through your calculating moves one by one.

When you came on the scene, you flew way under the radar, didn't you? Meatball subs. Remember? It was almost comical, wasn't it? Like you weren't really serious about, but hey, it could be fun! We all had our little laughs and figured you'd stop there. But you didn't, did you? Oh no. This was just the beginning.

You poked around the cheese department next. Yeah, yeah, not too much, but you made your presence known. For as long as I can remember, the white cheese was always Swiss. You didn't even have to ask. If you wanted white - Swiss, please. But ever so slowly, a new chase made its way into the cold cut aisle. Swiss, please. "Sorry, that's provolone." What? What is that? Umm, okay, yeah, I guess. For a little while, there was some confusion, until it became clear you were the round white cheese. That satisfied us - but should it have?

Pretty sneaky, sis.

Then, you were in position, weren't you? You had your foot in the door and now you were ready to make your appearance. Excuse me? You don't know what I'm talking? Well let me remind you. The panini.

That's right, the panini. Not panino, as you might say in actual Italian, but the panini. You were working that "funny business" angle again, weren't you, with the incorrect spelling? Well, it worked. You fleeced us, making us think that panini were some magic food of the gods. Look at me when I'm talking to you, Italy. I've been. You know that. You also know that panini are a street food, not this gourmet crap you'd have us believe it is. But you kept working that gourmet stuff on us, didn't you?

Damn, you were sly.

And now... now, we can't stop it. We've got prosciutto, pancetta, focaccia and ciabatta breads, and asiago cheese. When is it going to stop, Italy? When?

We thought you were satisfied with pizza. We carved a little niche for calzones. Americans love breadsticks! And the pasta. My God, the pasta! We tried to keep you happy, but that just wasn't enough, and now you've gone and taken our sandwiches. I hope you're happy.

Okay, I've said my piece; what's the next step. Clearly I've not convinced you, and the panini invasion is not stopping any time soon. Well then.. fuck you. I've had it.

PS - Don't you dare touch our hamburgers.

PPS - Forget what I said about prosciutto. I love prosciutto.