Sunday, February 21, 2016

oh bimba

I acted like a bit of a bimba (little girl/not bimbo, Brooklyn people, that's something else) today, but I think I sucked in the temper tantrum and only a little excess hormonal stress seeped out in the rage filled silences. I'll explain, if you'd like.

I have gone ahead with the fixed and obsessive belief for the last eight weeks or so that one day when the new couches came, all would be right with the world. Out with the dark and lumpy and in with the light and floaty. That's my motto. So when I got up after my third night of insomnia and had to pull myself together to get the couch delivery on the one morning that I might have theoretically been able to sleep late, it was with great mental fortitude that I had to accept that 9 am in Italy is 9:50 am New York time. And that was only when I got the phone call that one of the pieces was missing, or lost, or had gone for an early ferragosto to get a jump on the traffic. I met this news with a great big brooding silence in which I tried to pick my words carefully. Our friend at the furniture store finally asked, cheerfully, if I was sad. Yes, yes, I am sad, I said. And I followed that up with the usual of course it's not your fault and capita which is Italian for sh%t happens.

I had such an existential crisis about the couches that I actually could not bring myself out of my bedroom to greet the delivery men right away. But I did get out to them eventually. And shortly thereafter, the missing piece was found in the box. I both knew in my new Italian sensibility that something would go wrong and that something would get fixed this morning, but being right is not as fun as it used to be when I was less, shall we say, experienced. I made up for it by telling the moving guys a long story about my grandfather after which they had to accept some coffee and a tip alla americana. I then had them move the couch a millimeter to the left and the younger one pointed out that I was very precisa - which is Italian for a total mess with hair on top.

a fuzzy rug makes all the difference in the morning
F's office looks better with the new rug and old bookcase.
We found a place for the coats and stuff in the entranceway. Good idea, neighbors! Why didn't we think of that?
Newborns sleep better through the night than this bimba.
T's guest bed even looks more inviting.

This week was also super stressful because the German Barbie dermatologist burned a hole in my right cheek with acid. I mean I paid her to do it, but, as usual, she didn't prepare me for the disgusting healing process. I had to do this whole week speaking in front of huge groups of people with my hair hanging down over half of my face -- so that made the video lessons extra particolare. What I have learned from teaching at Brooks shoes is that they really drink the Koolaid. They love running and they love Brooks. Really. A lot. My baby toe still is fractured, too. And, although, I can shove it in normal shoes now, it still looks like an eggplant emoji --no offence to dick pics everywhere. 

I had a big fit about not getting any contacts for the Caritas in Pescia where I want to bring all of my Nigerian group to try to get them better housing and welfare services, but then my reporter friend pointed out that I had missed an email from the director of the Lucca branch of that Catholic charity doing just that. I managed to score us an appointment for Tuesday. It will be a miracle if we all get there in time and get seen, let alone manage to convince anyone to help us out. F will have to drive me and Paul first and then go and pick up the pregnant ladies and their beaus from the train station in Montecatini. I am really nervous about this and sometimes when I wake up in the night, I can't get back to sleep from worrying about it. I promised myself if I got back into social work I would maintain an emotional distance, but I don't think that really happened. That's right, my professional demeanor has done a full Kanye with a double axel. For one thing, I feel like I keep getting their hopes up, even though I haven't gotten them anything concrete other than some spending money. I also broke my rule about not giving them my own money. Emmanuel got called back to Calabria to his old camp. I gave him money for the train ticket because I didn't want him to get any more fines or legal problems, begging for that money. He doesn't know why he was called back in the first place. I am worried that from there they will try to fly him back to Nigeria from the camp. Some people from the group laughed when I said that which made me even more nervous because they don't know how serious this is. When I called the lawyer, who didn't even know she was his lawyer, she told me that apart from the tickets that he got begging she can't help him. She told me to track down his stay permit lawyer. Emmanuel can't remember that guy's name because it has been so long since he had any news of his court case to appeal the decision not to let him stay in Italy. One positive thing is that somebody named Geraldine Hoare read something I wrote on a facebook group and collected a ton of baby clothes to give them. We are going to try to bring that to their current residences tomorrow.

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