waaah waaah

More has happened in the last 72 hours than in the last 2 months. Life in Milan is going on hiatus, and returning to Veneto for the month of September is an inevitability, with no clear path back in sight, at least for now. A new housing contract in Milan will be desperately needed if any career hopes pan out over the next few days, or weeks at this point in the waiting process. If they don’t, well, the evil axis will loudly beckon for its prodigal son of a bitch to return, and the call will be hard to ignore with such empty pockets.

Not many friends were made in Milan after such a short amount of time spent in the city, outside of roommates. A few here and there, friends that were already made well before arrival, which aren’t counted in such an assessment.

The idea of regret is something that has been discussed on this blog a few times already, or at least conveyed through some sort of sophmoric metaphor, and while it’s still very important to live without making negative feelings of want and what-ifs concrete and etching them into your soul, it’s hard to put this specific feeling into words any other way. This particular regret is with regard to casualties of passion that had occurred within the first few months spent in this city. A personal and once precious rapport completely tarnished as a consequence of a reckless and thoughtless adoration, but mostly selfishness and narcissism and whatever that thing deep inside the self that everybody believes they are missing - call it love call it limerence, call it whatever you want. Not seeing this person even once while living in the same place as them for a time was regrettable, but it’s better this way, obviously, because this is the only way that it could have ever gone. This regret is not reserved for the actions taken in the name of something that was believed to be larger than the self, as this should never be the case - but for the simple fact that the way that things played out was personally unfavourable, which, again, narcissism, selfishness. A genuine goodbye would be lucky but it’s not really necessary, and won’t be groveled for. Contact with this person may never be established again, not that the crimes committed in the name of passion were so obscene that it would warrant it, but because there is seemingly no road which hasn’t already been blocked off in terms of communication, at least in the short term. One can dream of a surprise two or three years down the line, but approaching the age of 30 makes this unlikely and the best course of action is simply to continue ahead without spending too much time dwelling on what goes on in the periphery - continue to assume the position of sheer competence even if its all fake, continue to be kinder every day, continue to speak dreams into reality, all of that great shit. Hopefully there will be a return to Milan in any case, as working here is almost certainly what is in the cards provided that the goal is still to make good money and live in a nice apartment in a big city in a favourable area - which it is. Perhaps its for the best that the deepest sensations possible to feel in our hearts sometimes go out with a whimper instead of with a bang. To hide from what once was or to be limited and contained, treated as a volatile substance - boxed out. It is what it is and as much of a tough pill it is to swallow, it goes down.

There is a lot to look forward to in Veneto. Lots of friends. Alcohol will be back on the menu almost certainly, but also a stricter physical routine since the people who motivate me will be held very closely. Still, there is a really profound emptiness that is hard to ignore. Failure, mostly. Failure is fine and fine to feel. Hopefully a return will be in store by the end of the month. This is all becoming really tiring. There was a time where stress would come from these complications, like a metal ball in the middle of the chest, like something exploding inside of the body. That hasn’t happened in a long time - these situations are becoming so commonplace that it’s hard to feel anything but numb or exhausted, even when it’s sure to be exciting. Womp womp!