A few things happened in the weekend. Nothing really meaningful (I apologise in advance for updating the blog).
Latest news is that last night the creepy horny lady from Marco's apartment block. Again, just like last Monday, this creepy horny lady (undefined age, but she sounded quite desperate and Marco knows of no young girls was watching the building's CCTV and saw my friend going to open the door to let me out. She started whispering again at the intercom horny stuff, like those you would expect in erotic hotlines (not that I've ever called one)..."come up to my apartment", "give your number", "I'm waiting for you" and such. Exactly at that time came back from a trip to Cataratas del Iguazu Marco's tenant, a US-American girl from Washington, who was quite amused by the fact that such thing could take place! Thankfully, Marco's Brazilian girlfriend wasn't there to hear all this. We got her number without giving her Marco's, I think I'm going to do some sort of prank call because the curiosity is killing me.
Well, the other creepy (well, it's more like 'filthy', I'd say) thing that happened on the weekend went on on Saturday at dawn, as I was heading home from a night out. At about 4am I was a block away from home and I almost barge into an old, dowdy prostitute who happened to be just coming out of someone's house (actually, a hotel familiar, some sort of collective housing scheme organised with individual rooms around a patio and shared facilities such as kitchen and bathrooms). She approached me asking the hour; after I replied she literally asked: "do you want a little blowjob ('petecin') here, on the street?"; upon my denying of her services -on the base of the fact that I "prefer to conquer my girls"- she proceeded to insert her hand into my underwear. After a few seconds of booze-fuelled astonishment, I pulled it out (the hand!) and walked home after going around the block (extra safety - didn't want to let her see where I live; I've heard all sort of nasty stories about guys inviting over girls and getting drugged and robbed out of everything).
Just wow. Talk about a cheap whore! Not that I know her prices, but if that's how she finds clients...
On a completely different note (sorry about the whining, I swear that if I could avoid it I would be a much happier person), I'm still managing to go out and meet people, but I'm feeling emptier and emptier when I get back home, especially since when my therapist suggested I should consider whether I really am happy here. Apparently, not showing any interest in decorating my apartment (home?) IS a signal of something deeper. And well, I have never shown any interest in decorating any place I lived in. It also sucks balls the fact that I'm getting panick attacks again, especially now that I'm letting some thoughts about Sofía creep into my mind after a short period of complete denial (I haven't talked to her in almost two weeks); I can't focus on the reasons, but thinking about where the relationship is now scares me, distresses me and sends me into paranoia; though, I deeply understand that I need to get hold of it now, as in: no denying; facing things; accepting reality; eventually make a decision. But I need to talk to her because I feel I should ask her how she's doing anyway.
Another Italian friend is also considering what the hell she is doing here, but basically because she feels that not everything that she left back in Italy is done and dusted. In my case, it is quite different, apart from the relationship with my parents, which are still the only people together with Sofia that can manage to get out of me all the anger which I normally don't feel. Especially when they go on about how I should primarily love myself, that I don't need to change to find someone else, blah blah blah, as if I were happy with who I am, as if I had ever been happy about who I am; and because I am not happy with who I am, I can't love myself, I can't care for myself too much, I don't treat myself. If it is true that one of the most important things in life is to learn how to love yourself, well: I'm doomed, then.
Every time I go to the therapist I feel as if part of my mental structures is being broken down. On one hand, I realise that being very rigid with certain things does not help being happy, on the other it feels very strange because I am supposed to deny or give up a 'way of life' (mental structure, kind of approach to life, etc.) which I almost always followed in these years. Although it is just sensible to assume that one person does not change in a day, week, month or year, I wonder whether following certain paths of change makes one lose oneself a bit; since we are what we did, what we thought, how we've always behaved.
Say: one finds out that a way one has always behaved may have hindered him from being happy. Should this prospected happiness be a sufficiently striking reason to change a behaviour, which one may define as typical of one's self?
What can be then rightly defined as a behaviour which is typical of one's personality?
I guess I'll have to leave all these questions open, be receptive (as both my therapist and my mom said, in a very nice and annoying way, respectively.)