Some news: I am still waiting on the military to determine if they will send us and our things home. Instead, I found out about something called Space Available, where if there is a flight with extra seats on it, someone can hop on. I went to the terminal today to get important information they won’t give you over the phone.
I found out that I have to show up at 9am, will leave about noon, and the 1800-1900 time is the estimated time I will arrive in Baltimore on Friday.
But since it’s Space Available I could get stuck in Germany when they stop at that base and have to fly out on another flight if there are military people that need to fly before me, since they get priority. Probably won’t happen, but it’s a possibility. Also a possibility that I won’t get to fly out Friday if there are no available spots, but they told me that probably won’t happen, they had 100 open seats last week.
I also need to have a soggiorno, which is an identity document that I tried to ask if I needed ALL WEEK and was told “no, you don’t need this to leave.” Every. Single. Time. Turns out I totally need one to leave. Or at the very least a recipt that I at least applied for one. The office was closed today and tomorrow is a big important deal and they’ll be busy all day, it’s by appointment only.
I should mention that when I got the application, they told me that I should have applied for a soggiorno within 8 days of my arrival in Italy. I asked J about it when I got here and he said that I didn’t need it. I filled out paperwork for the codice fiscale but never was able to take it in, due to not having a car, and not knowing where the heck I was going. I thought it was something he was supposed to take in, because he brought me the paperwork. I had no idea what I needed to do for these things or how to find out or where to go. I had no numbers to the base, and had to call the library to find the TMO office (moving office). The sergeants were appalled that the only number I had was for the moving office. When I asked him for the numbers to the base he told me to figure it out myself and he wouldn’t help me. There were a lot of things I didn’t know, a lot of briefings I was supposed to go to that I missed because I was unaware of them. There were a lot of things I didn’t have because he told me I didn’t need them, or they were unimportant. Things I didn’t know because he said they weren’t important. Classes I didn’t get to take because he said that I could just have him show me what I needed if I needed anything, but then never would.
To get a soggiorno, I have to have a Codice Fiscale, which is like an Italian Social Security Number. I also don’t have one of these and their office closes at noon.
So I can try to get a Codice Fiscale tomorrow, but I can’t leave the house until I get a call around 8 from the First Sergeant who will be going to the soggiorno office to try to see if he can get something worked out where they can get me one on short notice. Which means I have from about 8:30 until noonish to try to get this stuff done IF THEY WILL EVEN LET ME. Their big important soggornio office super busy deal starts at 9. Which means if they’ve got it in their hearts to help me, I can hurry and get there before nine, see if they’ll let me fill in everything, then go to the codice fiscale office, hope I get there before noon, get that, then call the soggornio office or go back there and turn it in. Technically I have to have a codice fiscale before I can even get the soggornio but some of the office people talked like it may be workable to do it the other way. I have to show up Friday at 9, so I have to get all of this done tomorrow, or I don’t get to leave.
I know worrying about it won’t change it. If I have to wait, then I have to wait. It’s not up to me, it’s up to time constraints and other people and paperwork.
I’m just so weary of this. I’m so tired of being in a foreign country and thinking, “just a little while longer…” and then that little while longer turns into, “okay, a few more weeks” and, “we don’t know, just wait.”
This whole thing isn’t easy. It would never be easy. But if I were with my family and my friends who love me? At least it would be a bit easier. And it’s so nice to talk to them online. I feel really blessed that I have that option. But it’s not the same.
I need a hug.
I don’t remember the last time I’ve been held. It’s been years.
A week isn’t that big of a difference. But it feels like I’m carrying around this really tall, really heavy stack of books. I was really hoping I’d get to come home this week because some of these books have to stay here. I can’t take them with me. And it’s like, “Just carry these around for another week and then on Friday you can sort of set them down for a minute and shake your arms out. You’ll have to pick them back up right away, but we’ll trade some of these really thick books for maybe a few more, but lighter books.” And my arms are all shaky and I’m being told, “Just a little bit longer.” And I’m thinking, “I can totally do this” and then right before I get to set them down they tell me I can’t.
There’s just this huge feeling of tiredness and just…frustration.
I hate writing about this. I know there are women that have it so much worse than I do. I don’t have bombs flying over my head. I don’t have to worry where the next meal for my children will come from. I lived through years of abuse. I had no broken bones. No trips to the hospital. I know that comparatively, I am very lucky.
I am lucky that I have parents that are still alive and capable of taking us in. I am lucky that those parents are gracious enough to tell us, “As long as you need.” I am lucky that I have a personal computer in a warm house and the internet. So that I can get on here and complain about how terrible I have it.
I have to re-learn how to trust myself. I have to re-learn that it’s okay and necessary to listen to my inner voice, my instincts, my body. I have to learn not to apologize for everything constantly. I have to learn that my thoughts and feelings are okay to think and feel. I have to re-learn that it’s okay to be me.