In Florence, Sundays were a day to go to church, to watch my host sisters volleyball game or they were returning home days. I spent most of my weekends away in other countries, and Sunday would usually be the day we returned home. At the point, we refereed to Florence as our home, feeling happy to be back in our own warm beds on Via Fiesolana without any maps or guidebooks to take us there.
In Syracuse, Sundays are a day to vent. To vent about the weekend, to vent about the work that's ahead for the coming week, or to vent about how fast the weekend flew by. By the time Sunday comes around, all you want to do is sit around the television after a nice dinner and do absolutely nothing. In Florence, this was perfectly acceptable.
In Syracuse, it never is. And so, on this beautiful sunny fall not so cold sunday, I can't seem to even enjoy my day without worrying about Monday. Tome Petty says, "You have four years to be irresponsible here. Relax. Work is for people with jobs." But work is for all Americans, college or no college, there is always some sort of stress put on us. We can't seem to escape this worried, working world. And I still don't understand why. All I know if that the coffee and espresso here isn't strong enough, and there are never enough hours in the day.
At Syracuse, I drink about 2 to 3 cups of coffee a day . In Florence, I drank about 2 to 3 cappuccinos a week. You can calculate the difference, but I doubt you'll have the time to...
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