This week I heard of an unlimited mobile data plan. Unlimited, meaning a 7GB data limit. But hey, at least it’s 100MBps. As if THAT would be the issue? What is this, the fucking dark ages?
It’s the first time in a week I’ve had a moment to myself, so I snuck out of my self inflicted prison to relax in Padova city. To get away from screaming kids and a mother undermining my reasoning and situational awareness at every turn. Not to mention the internet access that’s been restricted to limits that only a blind person without fingers would find sufficient.
Like, fuck you so much.
So a week ago, with a hangover of the ages, I’m making my way across Europe. In Copenhagen, somewhat shellshocked by the price of the meal I just had, I notice this incredibly hot, obviously Italian brunette doing her e-mail work and videochatting on her phone. She’s on the same connecting flight to Venice. With my hangover still in the “I wish I was dead”-phase, I’m pretty far from a playful mood. But after an hour of watching her from the corner of my eye, I realize I simply must do something. So when we finally land in Marco Polo, I gather whatever wits I have and catch up with her right at the exit.
“Hi. Uhh don’t take this the wrong way, but I just saw you back there. And you’re the hottest thing, like absolutely gorgeous. If I didn’t come to meet you now, I’d be kicking myself halfway to next week wondering about it. So hi, I’m Jay.”
She giggled and gladly took the compliment. Sadly she lived in Copenhagen and was in Italy only for a couple of days. We had a bit of a chat and agreed to meet if possible. I didn’t care if we never met. I’d overcome my fear and made someone smile that night.
So then I met my host family. A youthful Italian mother, a French father and two distinctly Italian looking small boys who spoke Italian and French fluently and learning English on the side. My job would be to speak English with the kids. Pretty impressive? Yeah, sure.
The next day my life in Italy started off with a bang, as we visited the local kiddie-rugby tournament the next morning. The smaller of the two was bored out of his mind and found throwing rocks into a nearby sewer a better use of his time.
I couldn’t help but relate. I’d rather watch paint dry than sports.
So we got to know each other while throwing rocks into a sewer. Although, to be completely fair, the rugby culture seems much more sport oriented than the ego-driven personal achievement bullshit I’m used to. So I guess I could give that a chance.
The week quickly passed with early mornings, fighting the kids to school, a few hours to myself doing whatever home improvement tasks needed doing, and fighting the kids outta school.
And the park.
The fucking park.
So after school we take the kids hand in hand to a nearby park to play around and be kids. Which is cool. But rather than being able to enjoy this little afternoon in the sun, I have to stand like a bodyguard and and follow the kids’ antics with hawk-like precision. Now, I don’t exactly mind that, the little guys need some supervising. But however carefully I stare at whatever the kids are doing, the mother finds something that could be watched more carefully, while she chats with the other Italian mothers who don’t speak English. Now I realize she’s a mother and mothers do this, but for fuck’s sake. I am a security guard with 3 years of experience watching people. Not to mention the 10+ years of experience reading people’s behaviour and anticipating actions. It’s incredible how fast those sorts of comments go from constructive into piercingly annoying.
I hate the fucking park.
So in the evening it’s a constant struggle to keep the kids happy. Then we have a struggle to brush their teeth and go to bed. And the mom keeps pointing out things I could do better.
And I’m exhausted by 9 pm.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m starting to like the little buggers. And the mother knows her kids and how she wants to raise them. But in some cases it just feels like she’s stirring the pot unnecessarily and causing a conflict where there needn’t be one.
On top of this, there’s the internet-debacle. Now let me get this straight. I don’t require much in life. In fact, my priorities can be summed up to four simple rules:
#1 Keep myself safe and healthy. This always comes first, no debate. No negotiation.
#2 Keep my friends and loved ones safe and healthy.
#3 Ensure my life goals are met. I’m on a mission to realize the life I want to live. Non-negotiable.
#4 If I have a chance, I help my friends and loved ones reach their life goals. I’ve learned not to force this on anyone, but I’ll take time to help if asked to.
Let’s focus on #3 for a second. My life goals at this point are: create a coaching business. Don’t get me wrong. This requires very little besides my own head. Namely a laptop and internet access. A constant and stable one. Not with some bullshit restriction of 1.44Mb/week only for text downloads. And the fucking patronizing attitude I run into. “Hey take a break and enjoy Italy for a while!” I got a fucking job to do here! You don’t tell a taxi driver to take a walk for a change, do you? More to the point, you don’t give a taxi driver a car that only goes 10 metres a day, now do ya? Eh? Eh?
So I want you to understand my full meaning when I express my incredible frustration of repeatedly running into ridiculous limitations and security measures against getting a data stream going. If this issue is not sorted, I will have to leave Italy. Simply put. Because if I can’t work on my goals, I might as well be sitting somewhere else in the world working a shit job.
This has been a bit of a rant, and it’s mostly because of this fucking flu and the internet-issue. Because at the end of the day, the mother is a cool person. We chat about saving the world and why capitalism is corrupted. And she cooks a wicked veggie-meal! Which means I need to put zero effort into eating healthy. She also completely symphatizes with my internet-issue and took time off her incredibly busy schedule to try and do something about it. I respect that.
The worst thing is, I feel lonely. I haven’t felt lonely since I left Finland, because there’s always been the city and the people. In Budapest I could just pop out and meet someone. Here I’m stuck in the middle of the countryside without internet.
There’s that word again, stuck. Stuck in my self-inflicted prison with no internet and no access to my peers.. My therapist would be proud. I’m finally understanding where this feeling comes from.
But it’s just been a week, so we’ll see how it goes. I just gave 2 euro to a lovely Jamaican for brightening up my day and making me a little bracelet thingie. Perhaps it’s not all as bad as it seems..
Maybe I’ll go find a glass of vino bianco and run into some cute Padovian brunette.