Tuesday, July 12
Last night, just as I was getting ready for bed, my email stopped working. The provider was switching platforms, but I had changed the settings in preparation, so this should not have happened. I briefly tried to fix it, got very angry (in a ready to swear a lot way, not a throwing things way), and went to bed. But the a/c had quit working earlier (only a loose plug which Roman immediately found) and the temperature was higher than I could tolerate in bed, so I got up to pace. Movement was confident and fluid, my posture almost normal, and walking was in relatively good form. I was still angry and there seemed to be a connection, like maybe a flood of adrenaline had given my brain something it needed. The flow lasted for about an hour, during which time I fixed the email problem (just as Friend said I would after I relaxed a bit), then movement crept back to its more accustomed level. But the adrenaline rush, if that’s what it was, had me wired so I didn’t really sleep until nearly six.
This has happened before, that is anger has improved movement. It’s a pleasant effect, but not one I want to get used to, not if I have to cultivate rage in order to stay there.
Today, I feel internally well, and movement is a mix between awkward and comfortable. And I’m kind of dopey for having gotten only three hours sleep.
Wednesday, July 13
I slept better last night but still not enough. We had to hit the road early to get to an appointment at the questura (police station) towards renewing my permisso di soggiorno (permit of stay). I was dopey to begin with, and thank goodness for Roman. There were two officials at the counter. The one helping me spoke very quickly, the one helping others has a giant, booming voice. Between the two, my hearing aids were rendered useless. Then came the finger printing on an electronic pad. Maybe because of all the hand washing and sanitizing since the onset of the pandemic, none of my prints would read until we got to the left thumb, which was almost last in line. I was an exhausted symptomatic mess all the way home. I napped before lunch, felt a tiny bit better, then a music nap after lunch and I felt much better.
The sagrato walk was accompanied by a brass band, flags of at least 40 countries, and 900 skeet shooters from around the globe. I managed to put in five laps anyhow, as the band played marches. The actual shooting will happen in the country near Canale, not in Piazza del Duomo. The gathering will be here through Sunday. If you were planning to come to Orvieto for dinner this week, forget about it.
Otherwise, this was a two-steps-back kind of day.
Thursday, July 14
Slept well for three hours then not really again until my after lunch nap. There was a family of six very energetic, blond, and adorable little children running crisscross to my walking trajectory, and coupled with my lack of sleep, that effectively destroyed the morning stroll. The evening was a lot better. The other things that were improved on the weekend, waned, and are now coming back. Internally, I felt clear and calm for most of the day.
There is a tango floor installed in the piazza. I’ve promised a friend the first dance, but am going to have to put it off until next year.
Friday, July 15
Feet of lead, but typing has been good all day. Slept well last night. Wanting to wave my arms like a lunatic and dance like a child. To open my heart like a great cellist, and sway while I walk. Take nothing for granted.
Saturday, July 16
Even though Roman has organized my showers to be as comfortable as possible, and even though I love being clean once a week, I cannot say that I look forward to them with glee. But today as he washed my hair, it felt so good that I said so, and was rewarded by perhaps thirty to forty seconds of feeling absolutely safe. Feeling safe is vital to turning off pause and to not randomly turning it on again. And this was not a mental construct kind of safe, it was like there being a strong, vertical support running through my energy centers; supremely pleasurable, and almost beyond time.
Otherwise, walking was on the mend, and typing has been actually pretty good all day. There seems to be a weekly cycle to how well I move. Something to do with how my brain is learning about the needed levels of dopamine, perhaps?
Six hundred tango dancers descended upon Orvieto this weekend, according to the headlines. They participated in a global competition held in Piazza del Duomo, according to a friend. And in typical Italian fashion, a half dozen bars decided it was a good week to go on vacation.
Walking (and even pacing) was on the good side of form, all day long.
Sunday, July 17
Eighty-seven years today, my parents tied the knot in a ceremony attended only by a priest and two witnesses. With minimal fanfare they kept it going until my father’s death fifty-three years later. They were very different people, but loved, supported, and trusted one another, and never let their differences become exaggerated.
This morning I did a half kilometer on the north sagrato, unassisted and in relatively good form. I was exhausted afterwards. Twenty-six months ago I could do ten kilometers up and down hills without feeling the least bit tired. To say I’m out of shape is a vast understatement. But the PD seems (seems) to be letting go of my body ever so gradually, so getting back into fit is a top priority.
As the day progressed, I became increasingly tired, though there was an hour or so of quick and free upper body movement. But by the time we went out, walking felt impossible. The actual walk was pretty good, not as good as this morning, but not disgraceful. Typing is awkward, but has been a lot worse.
Monday, July 18
I got up this morning just before Roman arrived (after seven straight hours of sleep) which meant we could beat the heat when we went out. It’s extremely hot from noon to about six, which because I’m home and air conditioned during those hours, means I’m not personally affected, but I worry for others my age and beyond – and for the parched countryside. The walk this morning was pretty good, not stellar but decent. Then I went to breakfast with American friends, and collapsed when I got home. But after lunch I was energetic and wanted to pace a lot, so I did.
I’m not sure about the week’s cycle I hypothesized on Thursday; it may be more like every three or four days. Or maybe it’s random. Or in response to internal realities that are difficult to track.
Around four I ran out of steam, and crashed on the recliner. Something happened – a profound relaxation – during that nap, but that’s all I remember and as far as I can tell, there was no carryover. Wake and shake is back, I’m sorry to report. Typing this evening is quite awkward, so this is the last sentence for today.