There’s no such thing as normal,
there’s just different shades of mental.
Your totally mental are in the lunatic asylums.
The rest of them…
We’re nothing but a living experiment in madness
under constant observation by the psychiatric community of the world.
Maybe sometimes we need a darker shade of mental. But only for awhile.
It’s been such a great week so far!
In terms of going out and about the places I’m in, I’ve definitely regressed into a complete lazy bum. (That’s not to say that I don’t go out at all) I just, more often than not, head out late and return early. The up-side is that I’ve been doing a lot of reading, and coming up with ideas for all sorts of projects—
I will probably not follow through with— for when I return.
So a little something something, with a little something else got me a 150% stoned last wednesday night, and really, I would’ve preferred to just sit and stare at the salt shaker in front of me, but I’m glad I didn’t. I felt like I gained a 100pounds in a fraction of a second. If you can imagine, it was just hilarious really, because I was so thirsty but my arms felt like jello. I felt like I would’ve died of thirst if I didn’t reach for my drink that instant, but it also felt like the sheer amount of effort needed to lift my arms to get it would kill me. The struggle was beyond real. But I digress.
Basically, what happened for the next two hours was complete silence, my host, Serge, playing with seashells, and me frantically scribbling god-knows-what in my notebook. Serge’s girlfriend just sat there across the kitchen table— the only one completely sober— laughing her ass off. I can’t remember the details of anything else except that at one point I practically shouted to her (in response to a question I can’t remember) that it “makes your brain so slow, you can’t help but think of only this one thing, and that makes it so much clearer. So much clearer!” Or something like that. Like I’m Jesus giving some kind of holy insight to enlightenment.
The next morning, reading through what I wrote— out of which at least half was nonsensical bullshit— I magically pieced together an outline for a short film I was thinking of making. *Yay marijuana!*
Since I’m not in my home country, I technically cannot be punished for what I did outside of it. Out of paranoia, I refuse to write the name of said country because I deeply believe they’re tracking all of us. Each and everyone of us. *Cue music: Every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.* I feel it’s also important to emphasise that I’m having such a blast bitching about said country, although I probably shouldn’t because it’ll just make me seem like that kind of asshole who has no love for her country. Even though it’s most probably true. The downside though, is that it always makes me extra scared at night. Class A wimp right here.
Highlight of this great week part 2: I am not a university student, I am not Italian, but I crashed an Italian university student party last night. Well, not so much crashed as went anyways as an uninvited guest. I deeply and sincerely hope that this will be a part of my university life. The people were hilarious and so so generous, nobody gave a fuck, and most importantly, I wasn’t the only one doing weird dances.
I think this is one of the best parts of couchsurfing—I mean, partying aside. I’ve tried so many new things that I wouldn’t even dream of if I wasn’t with the locals. And tomorrow… On to conquer Padova! I need to try to have more stamina for sightseeing.