The closer is the day, the more things I don't get done, including blogging, and the more things I postpone to the imaginary day after tomorrow when all the packing will be done with few expert focused hours of work. With the effort to keep my nervousness at bay, to reassure Libi and the silent or explicit questions to answer, I feel pretty much hollowed out, in a way that worries me only because I wouldn't want it to grow inside and extend itself across my days of travel.
I see the landscape changing all around, spring breeze celeste sky, I order few dollars at the bank, the terrace is getting thicker of blossoming plants, friends on the telephone can't make it or can't be reached and are told goodbye, rushing through the city teeming with the usual machinery-life, the emails to answer are accumulating, the birds chirping and the long lines at the police station to get my passport get shorter by the minute. I try to knock myself out with ideas of places and feelings of travel or walking by or swimming or new smells but it all remains in a lingering state where I can't really express it let alone make it real.
It's not a problem. Nothing is ever final anyway, anything is a sensation, anything is transient.
I read news about Italy, all bad and phony, but I don't feel like commenting anything anymore because it's like all is left to feel and relate would offend someone --and anyway I am not alert enough to make justice to it.
Just like these odd days, soon my posts will be slightly rarefied, because of me being around and far from home, but so you know, I intend to keep the blog updated and going, getting back at it every time it's possible etc.
Meanwhile I have to put an end to this post 'cause it's like I am having a shortage of breath or something.

-- in picture, above: something that hasn't much to do with the text below.