da firenze a roma

why is it that breathing sometimes can be a chore, a laborious task that seems to invest more energy that what is really desired to give. i felt this way both the night before hitting the pillow as i headed out of florence, though restlessly awake, and again the next morning as boBo graciously offered me a ride to the station.



when i travel, i like to break up the itinerary as legs of one giant monster leading to an eventual head. i use the word like rather liberally here. i think i would rather not think about it at all, but my OCD/ADD impulses come into play and it at least makes me feel safe knowing that i look at things in this manner.

part one of my journey: getting out of the house. my train was not until ten minutes to eight when i would be taking a eurostar to rome. of course, i had to wake up at six although we are literally a ten-minute walk from the station (and that's if i am full of luggage and tired).

in the end, we made it past the first leg (to the car) and ventured onto the second portion: the ride to the train station. yes, i could have walked. it would have been faster. but then again, i would not be seeing boBo for an entire month and i thought that the last few minutes together would be better spent together. but then i realized that we were in a car in the centre of florence.



anyone who is familiar with this city knows that it is impossible to get anywhere merely by driving in a straight line. the highly strict navigational course forces you to leave the city on the other end only to take another busy road to get back to where you were before. such was the case the morning of my departure.

and this led to my forced breathing.

i did not want to freak out with the assumed fact that i would be missing my train and all of the implications such a fiasco would ensue. instead i tried to think that i would make it, dammit! the traffic getting heavier and the minutes ticking away fluidly, the breathing increased in depth and speed.

if i would have walked, i would have been there by now.
we should have left earlier, i knew we should have left earlier.
is a taxi such a bad idea at a time like this???



such were the rapid thoughts passing through despite efforts to control my mind. sometimes these patterns of thinking, however, become too strong to stop and then they merely run rampant.

there were no long goodbyes as i scurried out of the car, and with my extra-large bags in hand (and on back), i breathed one last sigh as i entered the station and found that i had five minutes yet before i was scheduled to depart.

i should trust him more. me, i'm just crazy.