I'm the best driver you've ever met.

I have several saved drafts of blogs, but nothing I care to post yet, if ever, but I want to post something (especially after my shameless canvassing of my friends). I guess a good place to start is here:

She counted out the money onto the table in front of me. Where I thought it would keep going, she stopped. I asked her if that was all, and she nodded. Taxes? I asked. Again, she nodded. My situation was looking a little desperate: this was an entire month's pay sitting in front of me, and it covered the barest necessities. I sighed and collected the stack of bills and thrust them into my wallet. Time to start coming up with a plan D (A wasn't working out; B never got off the ground; C I had had no reason to believe would ever become more than just a plan). I was in the office of the school and decided to check my email to see if I had gotten any replies from the various companies I'd applied to, or perhaps (and this seems even more unlikely) if one of my friends emailed me [jab]. Everything in the inbox was shaded read and I began to fret. I hadn't even thought about my blog in recent days (I've been too preoccupied), but I decided to check and see if it had made any money. It had: 4 dollars. Four dollars! I couldn't believe my eyes. Four whole dollars! This is no large amount of money, by any stretch of the imagination, but what excited me about it was that it was the first time I've received any money for writing something. I know that this blog is sort of corny, and the only people who check it are a few friends and some family, so the 4 dollars wasn't earned because of some merit of mine, but I couldn't get over it.

It was such a good feeling that I packed up my stuff, went to the park, and got myself a gelatto. I sat watching the rowers in the lake thinking about the 4 dollars, and why it excited me so much. A part of me has always doubted my abilities in any endeavor; I have never experienced a moment of total confidence. Every action is marred by self-doubt. But recently I felt I had finally started to shed all of that off, the 4 dollars merely proved something to me: that if I worked hard enough at it, I could really actually make some money. Part of me was being silly, but I wasn't worried about it.

I was feeling pretty dandy when an American friend called me to see if I was in town for the night. I had no plans, so I agreed to meet her for aperitivo in Campo dei Fiori at 8. After I got off the phone with her I decided to start walking, somewhere, anywhere. It was a delicious afternoon, the air was calm and cool, there were no clouds in the sky, everything seemed sleepy, like a Sunday. I strolled through the ancient streets, deliberately trying to get lost, but by now I have an internal compass in this town, and no matter how narrow the strip of blue sky is above the rooftops, or how directionless the streets seem, I can always find my way. The money, I started to tell myself, wasn't bad. Cutting out the gelatto and the occaisional beer would set me straight. No indulgences and I'd be fine. Wasn't being here indulgent enough? Wasn't the Roman air an ointment for my frustrations? Yes, the money wasn't really a problem at all, I thought, and suddenly realized it wasn't. The more I walked, the better I felt. I had forgotten about the 4 dollars, or pushed it aside, and was rambling out whole, fantastic yarns in my head; I was writing a novel every block and I was miles from a pen. Instead of trying to remember any of these threads, I usually just surrender myself to them and let them carry me along; in their wake I will perhaps remember a cluster of words or an idea that occurred, but nothing rivalling the initial force of my imaginative rambling.

At 8 I met up with Giulia and we went to a bar to get apperitivo. Generally one pays for a drink and then there is a buffet opened to you, but occasionally I just pretend I am with people and eat for free. But this place was too nice and not very busy, so I bought a drink and got dinner. The apperitivos are generally really good, and I was happy to gorge myself. There was a nice quiche and several panini with prosciutto and mozarrella, there was bread with several spreads, a salad. Together with the glass of wine, it made a nice meal.

Giulia I met 2 years ago here. I knew when I met her that she'd be a useful contact to have, and so far she has been. One cannot walk half a block with her without running into someone she knows. I've always suspected she inherited a lot of money; there's no other way to explain how she supports her lifestyle. Her tastes are expensive, and, as a result, she wines and dines right along side all of the American businessmen, diplomats, journalists, etc. In her company I have met everything from sculptors to actors. This is the reason I will occasionally fork out the money for a drink with her.

However, Giulia and I are only acquaintances, and sometimes it is a strain to be around her. The conversation started out slow and clumsy before she asked me if I had a driver's license. She asked me as if it were an afterthought. I told her I did but didn't ask why she wanted to know, and the conversation quickly moved on. After about 20 minutes she told me about the job she has for a week in Tuscany: driving a Canadian production team around to various gardens in Tuscany. They worked for a show that did features on different gardens around the world.

"I don't know if I'm going to take the job. The money's not great, but they pay for the hotels and my food and everything," she said.

"How much do they pay?" I asked. She told me and my jaw dropped. This was the best indication of how wealthy this girl must be, if she described this as "not a lot of money."

"That's more than I make in a month!" I exclaimed. "And you said you don't know if you want to do it?" I was incredulous. She was visibly tickled by my reaction. "You get to drive people around Tuscany, eat for free, and hang out with a group of, probably very cool people, and you get paid for it!"

"Well, that's why I asked you if you had a driver's license." My jaw dropped even lower.

"You want to know if I want to do it?" I felt light at the possibility. So much could come from this possible outcome.

"Well, I'll have to contact the people who hired me and see if it's alright," she told me, "I'll probably know by Monday."

This idea was too much. I could take a week off from work easily and make a lot of money while having a fantastic time. Giulia's phone rang and she excused herself. She had to go and meet some friends. I was welcome to come along, but I needed to catch my train, so we parted ways. Later I sent her a text message: I'm the best driver you've ever met.

To be continued...