Sleeptalk to Italy

I've been going to bed too late.  Today, I had told myself to be in bed by 10pm.  It's 11:40pm and I haven't showered yet.  Last night I slept around 1:15am, and felt pretty tired all day.

I had one of those evenings that stretched in front of me.  Boy and I went on a spontaneous bike-about along Cornwall and the seawall to Granville Island.  We both solved our hunger issues with bread, Vietnamese salad rolls, and goods at Zara's (him: Italian liquorice candy [verdict: unimpressed]; me: mushroom ravioloni and gorgonzola sauce [verdict: yummily rich and I should've eaten some vegetables other than the delicious leftover marinated eggplant slices my mom left me]).

Once I got home, I listened to an episode of the Judge John Hodgman podcast while cooking said ravioloni and doing laundry, and continued on to This American Life while eating.  That was followed by Duolingo (I'm now 60% fluent in Italian!), catching up on LaineyGossip, making a turmeric latte with the last of my overpriced Nuez date and almond milk, and starting the movie Call Me By Your Name.  The film reminds me of my long, lazy summers in Italy when I was younger, except I didn't go every year, we didn't stay at a fancy estate in the middle of meadows and pastel coloured everythings, and there were zero romances of any orientation.  But a visit to Sirmione was had, and I know the feeling of being the one kid at the table escaping into daydreams as the adults chatter away, sometimes in a language you don't understand, and sometimes about memories you were not yet born for.

And it has just hit me that Italy will never be the same without Giagi.  Without his album of memories with each relative and friend relived in a drawn out afternoon lunch in a garden, I am one step closer to tourist than I am to daughter.  It will be my first time back without the person who gave me that half of my history and identity--without the one who connects the dots between space and time.