Last night, I was on a boat. But, wait, you say, Milan is a landlocked city, how on earth were you on a boat last night? Well children, there is this thing called the Navigli, a canal that used to run through most of Milan that, now unfortunately only runs through very little of it. It is in no way a Venetian beauty of a canal or a scenic walk of a Lachine canal, but it's a center for nightlife in Milan (seems like everywhere I go seems to be a center of nightlife eh? well, there's a lot of night life, so there). The canal is lined with bars and little gelaterie and cute hangout joints. And boats. So Marina and Carly, seeing my child-like excitement, or subtle awe, decided to make my day and hang out on a boat. We three get along pretty well, although Marina and Carly share an affinity for rap, hip hop and american slang. We had a very nice night, chatting, drinking... seems to be a nice pasttime.
My change in mood from yesterday's more mellow state has chiefly to do to finding my lost sock (I lie, it has to do with my more challenging job at work). But I thought I had lost one of my socks yesterday, a nice wild striped one. I've never lost a sock before. It was a defeat. Anyways, the REAL reason for the change is moving to another floor at work where the activity is more and the jobs are more challenging. I get to hear more Italian, see more of the action, write more Italian, learn more skills. Now, the real internship begins. I am now working with a super sweet, beautiful and positive woman at the Picture Desk, completing tasks that are immediate, always changing. I just discovered, on the hunt for CDs the digital archive for which I was working the last two weeks but never knew. It is a super cold room with the office's network within and shelves of CDs, so thus the analog archive of file folders is getting replaced with shelves of CDs... oh the new perspectives I am getting. To sum it all up, perfect.
At the end of the day yesterday, having changed jobs, I was feeling a bit odd, still having that bitter taste in my mouth from the previous two weeks of archive digitization. Arriving home, straight from work, I was drained, weight pressing down under my eyes, throbbing body, exhausted mind (that's what happens when you have an actual job). So, as I have every day, I decided to do some yoga. While there might not be very much space in the house, there is this perfect spot in the room where I sleep on one of two bunkbeds (Niki's got the other one) and where there is just enough room against the closer to do forearm stands and, eventually, hand stands. After doing yoga in the early evening, completely sweaty and slightly dehydrated, I feel in control, at peace, and strong. The thing about yoga is that you only have your body to work with, you are tapping into your own strength, no weights, just you. And there is just something about the flow of movements in tune with the breath that is completely spiritual. So even if you are sweaty and hot by the end of it (humid hot Milan doesn't help the situation any), you don't really care that much because you are ready to do things, your mind is clear, your confidence high.
But sometimes you do mind the heat, not that it outweighs the benefits of an inner calm, but, hell, hot, sticky underwear is just no fun at all. I've grown to hate underwear, really, I have. Sticky, restraining, tight, waist-changing, and just plain entrapment. Why can't there be a light underwear that isn't tight and hardly feels like it's there... that's the way underwear should be, at least in the summer. I will go on a quest, or perhaps I'll start manufacturing underwear. I'm definitely in the right place to start an undergarment revolution. Now, if only I could pin down Dolce or Gabbana...
So I leave you with a fun fact about Italy which sort of fits into a plan I have to do a mini photo project with the common street signs of Milan... if you own a tabbacheria (a tabacco shop) and the carabinieri or polizia come in to check out the place and you don't sell salt, you'll be getting a fine. Or so says La Marina, but I trust her as a reliable source.