5 o’clock In The Morning

At almost five o’clock in the morning on Saturday, it seems all too appropriate to make a post. I arrived nearly five days ago in Florence, Italy and it has proven to be quite an adventure thus far. I’ve already met absolutely incredibly people and had experiences that are worth keeping records of.

I can’t particularly say that I’m homesick just yet; although I do miss my bed terribly because the puny mattress and pathetic pillow I’m currently sleeping on/with are completely sub-par. Being in Florence is significantly different than what I thought it’d be – I feel as though I’m in New York City and the LIRR is just permanently shut down so I can’t go home until it’s running again.

I want to say I’m not already pining for time with them but I already miss my country club friends because I miss eating fattening diner foods and getting silly-drunk with them. I am fortunate enough, however, to still be able to talk to them via Facebook and Skype, which is more valuable than I could ever share. They are my sanity and my crutch when I find myself, drunk, at a quarter to five in the morning, simply needing a friend to talk to.

It’s crazy because while most of my problems have seemed to drift away while abroad, the issue of my heart and my head still manages to rear its ugly head. I can’t manage to clear certain people out of either of those places and it’s killing me, mostly because I don’t want to go back to Long Island at the end of these four months and still have these stupid feelings that will result in nothing but further misery for me. I’ve learned that I need to take these four months to clear out what I’m feeling and be open to whatever the world throws my way. I’ve spent too much time over the past twenty years giving my all and caring about people who could care less about me. While it would be nice to say that starting now I’d stop that, it’s just not a realistic goal. I need to start reading people better and become a better judge of character. I just automatically assume that when I’m friends with someone, they’re going to look after my best interest; instead, I always end up lots of “friends” and a broken heart.

I’m spending the next few months on the mend because I did have my heart broken recently. I can’t say I blame anyone; if I do blame anyone, it’s really myself. I let myself feel things and want things that weren’t options. I’ve learned that having a broken heart is something that’s really one-sided; it means you fell into something that wasn’t really put together to start with and you can’t depend on something that’s not strong from the beginning. Really, when you end up with a broken heart, you know exactly how it got to that point. The signs were all there and the pressure points were blatantly obvious, you just avoided them – hoping they wouldn’t turn out this way. The fact is, they did, and you’re stuck with a pile of ash, hurt feelings, and a whole lot of painful memories.

All in all, I knew I’d end up feeling like this – I just didn’t think it would be in one of the greatest, most beautiful cities in the world. Because after all, no one wants to be in a country full of passion, coated in a language filled with romance, wishing they were in America in the arms of someone who couldn’t care less about them.

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