Rejoice, blog fans (if there are any of you left), for I am once again on native soil!
I am weary, jetlagged, battered, bruised, bandaged, and 10 pounds heavier.
I got propositioned for sex in exchange for drugs in Rome, I climbed ancient ruins I wasn’t supposed to climb in Pompeii, I swam in the Mediterranean, I helped get a 15-year-old kid from Louisiana into a nightclub (and helped him not get kicked out, as well), I fell in a canal in Venice and took an ambulance boat to the emergency room, I watched the most brutal sport I’ve ever heard of in Florence, and I took the drunkest plane ride of my life to Paris.
It was amazing.
Don’t worry, I’ll go into much more detail of all the best moments in the very near future, once I get around to actually writing about it all. For now, I’m attempting to catch up with everything I missed, which is completely overwhelming and I may just turn right around and get back on a plane. I also returned in the thick of Moving Week – my house is filled with boxes, I’ve already lost one roommate (and am losing another AS I TYPE THIS – don’t go, Lindsey!), and will, by the time the week is done, have lost two of my closest friends in Portland back to the frozen clutches of the Midwest. I also have to move myself into my cousin’s apartment, which will be hectic and awful and painful, considering my aforementioned Venetian injuries. But, as always, the spirit of Julie Powell will hold my hand, as she went through a similarly chaotic moving situation during her Julie/Julia Project. And she still managed to cook while living out of boxes! Damn you, Powell.
So, have no fear, the Danny/Gwyneth Project will soon return as regularly scheduled. Ugh.