18 December 2005
i loved rome, even though i came down with a horrid rash that kept me from enjoying much of rome. the art museums--gasp--were filled with more paintings that i could possibly comprehend. i learned that at the colosseum they would put on plays--free to all--where someone would get murdered. not wanting to murder an actor, or fake it, they would go to prison and go to the death row area, look at the prisoners--"okay, that one looks like our star"--and kill the person on stage. crazy. i met up with andy again and when he left, i felt lonely almost. i also discovered the book the beach by alex garland which i picked up when a backpacker went to the bathroom. he let me read it and i finished it that night. i saw the forum, the colosseum, the parthenon, wandering all over. i ate too much gelati, went out to dinner with people i met only hours earlier, and felt a lump in my throat as i realized my backpacking trip was ending soon--i would meet t next in greece, which was nice, but not the same as what i was used to.
i wrote in my journal as i rode the express train from roma to its airport: i feel a dread as i am on the train to the airport. i am leaving italy, my favorite country, land of fantastic pizza, amazing pastries; roma has been lovely. italy has been phenomenal: I CANNOT LEAVE.
and now, back in new york, i can't believe i'm not there.