Dividing your Time

I'm back to my side of the hill in Italy.
It's wonderful to be back -- in a way.
I was just starting to feel at home in our new place in London. Which we had only lived in about a month. Third move in 18 months.
It felt so good to start feeling at home somewhere I liked. So comforting. Hadn't had that. Even made a friend. First new London friend since leaving the US.
Now I'm here. For months.
Bye-bye, new friend.
Bye-bye, new home.
Bye-bye, tentative new life in London.
See you later.
Happy to be here.
So grateful to have this side of the hill, don't get me wrong.
But just so fucking disoriented.
Haven't been here in six months.
What's in this drawer? Where's my stuff? How do I use this crappy Italian cellphone I've got here again? Why doesn't that light work anymore?
Is that water coming out of the bottom of the washing machine?
No newspapers. No landline. Problems with Internet always. Shitty TV reception.
Cut off.
Great pasta, though. Fabulous lemons.
And my son's here now.
Which is amazing. And weird at the same time.
He works 12 hours a day, though. And lives in Rome.
Remind me what my life was here.
Oh yeah. I hardly had one.
Was just starting to build one, when I left.
I am living my dream.
Or at least the dream I thought I had.
I am dividing my time.
Which is what I always said I wanted.
Like authors you read about on book jackets.
What a joke.
It's not that easy, I'm finding.
Nothing ever is, is it?
I feel like I don't live anywhere.
Have no life anywhere.
No routine. No schedule.
Which is what every book on cognitive behavior therapy will tell you is what you need.
My husband's back at his job in London.
He's got a life in London. Centered on his job.
When you have a job, you have a life.
Deep breath.
Need to build on what I managed to accomplish last summer.
Which wasn't much, I admit.
It is Italy after all.
You never accomplish much.
You gotta do everything three or four times before it's done.
Made huge progress this morning, though.
Put out my recycling on the right day in the right bag in the right place for the first time ever.
And they took it away.
This may sound small.
It isn't, trust me.
It involved several trips to the local council last year. Get the right bags you need (don't sell them anywhere.)
The schedule. (as complicated a schedule as you can imagine.)
Sign up.
The office is hardly ever open.
That's all done now though.
They've picked up my trash.
For the first time.
I've taped the schedule to the inside of my kitchen cabinet.
I have the right bags.
Now I can live my dream.