Prima accommodation-huntress assoluta

A week ago I arrived in Italy on a day that started after about three hours of sleep at 03.30. It was due time to head to the airport. Disguised as a ‘Risi-Frutti’ my lethal-death-ray-of-mass-destruction was confiscated at the airport security, leaving my world domination plans a bit starved. One “no-breakfast” later I was tucked in between a Hipster-cuddle couple and a cherub-looking little hell spawn that screamed worthy of a soul burning in Gehenna. In the awkward position I did my best to pass-out with music in my ears while attempting a contortionist-inspired approach to fold myself into some rounded square in the little seat. 

As I exited the aeroplane it felt like crashing into a wall. In Sweden we had temperatures around 20 degrees, here I faced the double. After an evening at the theatre watching a 52 year old ‘prima ballerina assoluta’ putting the 28 year old self to shame, I grasped for breath in the 45+ degree bedroom. Lying straight on my back with all my limbs as far away from each other as possible, I almost managed to avoid that body-glue feeling. My forced fever-state made me dream of ice-cubes. Waking up the following morning I found myself in the exact same position, limbs all stretched out. Beneath me a wet chalk outline of sweat marked the theft of my body liquid. 

The following days, I was incredibly successfully in not finding accommodation – the primary purpose of my visit. Instead I worked on a paper, tired of pasta, came to the conclusion that I should start a literature-club with biweekly “reading aloud/open mic/cultural events/poetry-slam” sessions held in dimly lit cafes, hiked around downtown, sweated a lot and socialized with my supervisor. Discussing the future, both near and far, we balanced that comfortable combination of friendly intimacy and professionalism that I have come to associate with our interactions. We joked about Hans – “my future South Tyrolean boyfriend” who is a bit retarded, but worships me. Optimised pick-up strategies for the local Björk-lookalike. Discussed fashion appropriateness, career choices, family, perceived tallness and the beautiful landscape. 

Unrelated, previously uncertain news reached me with their confirmation. Imposed was the mixed feelings always associated with the source – an emotional sequence taking the embodied form of squinted eyes: Anticipation, expectation, skepticism, nervousness, fear, anger, denial, acceptance… hope.

Still homeless I am heading back to Germany through the spectacular mountain region. Teaching obligations and unpacked boxes lies ahead. Feeling 10 kg pasta heavier I am looking forward to go to the gym. I have a lot to do, but I am looking forward to it. 

Change is around the corner. Like a preying wolf it is huffing and puffing on the outside of my comfort zone. Anticipating I sit in wait for the walls to collapse. 


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