Last night in Perugia. So very sad and achy inside, though I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe just because it’s what I do: feel sad at moments of change. I accidentally broke an expensive bottle of wine that I’d just brought home from the enoteca – a gift for Yako. I had set it down in the bag and I did something and caused it to fall over on its side. The wine was in a gift box and hardly made any noise as it fell, and so I thought nothing was wrong. But then it started bleeding. The bottom of the bottle was broken off, and wine spread slowly across the floor. From the smell of it, it was very nice wine, indeed. So then, as I wrote to Mikal, the chain of events is: I feel stupid, then I feel punished, then I think about the money I’ve just wasted. And now, an hour or so later, I wonder whether I’ve become that kind of neurotic—that I have to punish myself with losses. That my subconscious is so in control of me that it allows these things to happen—lose my palm pilot, my glasses, my cell phone, all by way of self-sabotage. It’s like living with someone who doesn’t like you very much—or else who really wants to tell you something but you aren’t getting it.
Toward late afternoon I walked down to the wall below Piazza Italia to look at the view one last time. I’ve really loved that view. I can’t see much detail w/o glasses, but the general effect is still wonderful. The light was exquisite and autumnal, long shadows and a kind of slant that feels like the end of something. You sense the season changing, and off in the tall trees in the public garden alongside San Pietro you can see the beginning of the turning of the leaves. The evenings have been cool enough to start that process. There was a fierce and unsettling cold wind this afternoon. The last shout, the last gasp, that last day of September. That word, “last,” brings tears to my eyes, all by itself. The Terrazza, a sort of terribly hip spot during August where you could buy expensive drinks served by indifferent and snotty waitresses, but you didn’t mind because you were looking at such an incredible panorama, has been closed, apparently for weeks. You wouldn’t have wanted to sit there today, and after dark tonight it would have been unbearable. Still, it was hard to see the place with its umbrellas all rolled up and tied as they would never be opened again and the chairs stacked into rickety plastic towers.
And maybe I feel as though I didn’t do enough here or take enough advantage or study hard enough (in fact, I barely studied at all). So maybe I was cazzeggiando for most of September—more so, certainly, than in August, when I went to all of my classes. About halfway through September, I simply stopped going to the ones that pissed me off. It wasn’t even fun to bitch about them anymore. And the September students were, in some ways, a worse crew than August, where there were at least interesting personalities. But the truth is just that my heart wasn’t fully in it; I’m too worried about the future, I’m too anxious to get down to something real and start a life. Or that’s what I say.
Tonight I spent some time with C_________, who is going back home tomorrow to Switzerland, and I realized that something about the way she was talking was making me sad. She’s got a home to go to. I’ve fixed it so I don’t, but part of the issue is that I haven’t had one, or felt like I had one, for ages. I was moving out of Russia Avenue for a year and a half. Before that the short stint in Oakland and before that Albuquerque, where I was getting ready to move almost from the first month, though it took me four years to pull it off. This is my life. Of course, if what I really wanted was stability, I would never have come.