i've been on a first-name-basis with the visa officers of the italian consulate of toronto for far too long now. and my student visa is still, nowhere to be seen.
my last bar of Galaxy chocolate from Dubai has been sitting on my dresser for a week now, because i have convinced myself that it's bad luck to eat it until i actually set foot on Florentine soil. all week, i have been playing these games: "if there's a seat for me at the front of the bus today, it means i'll get my visa." "if they have chianti by the glass at this bar and it's less than seven dollars, it means i'll get my visa." "if i can walk to the bathroom with my eyes closed and not stub my big toe on the coffee table, it means i'll get my visa."
my inbox has filled up with people whose emails i cannot bring myself to respond to. if i write another "uh-actually-i'm-still-in-toronto" email, i *will* die of shame.
[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Richmond Hill, Toronto]
[tuesday april 22nd 2003 at 11:26:56] [¶]
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