Winter in Italy
It’s cold outside. Most winters are cold, but it’s also wet and humid. My laundry takes days to dry, and I wake up feeling cold and damp. It’s no longer a member of the third world, but heat is a luxury, and we can’t turn it on for more than six hours per day. More than six per day results in a few hundred euros per month. A few hundred.
I’m relatively happy despite my writers block, and inability to sleep. I used to feel more at home here than I did in the US, but since I’ve been back in this new neighborhood, I feel like a stranger. I’m so far from the things I’m used to, and to the things and people I know. If it wasn’t for Oliver, I would get a bike to shorten the distance, but I’m convinced I will crash and kill him.
I need proper bedding, or a dog that doesn’t vomit on me while I’m sleeping. I haven’t slept longer than a few hours for weeks.
Sex is good, it’s always good with him.
Business is confusing. It’s always confusing, but we are doing really well. New pictures look awesome.
