Yesterday I spent all day at the Questura. Thanks to a fax sent in, I managed to receive an earlier appointment for my permesso. January 13th instead of July! So I showed up around 7:30am to an already huge line and took my place at the end of the block. I was stressed and emotionally raw from a conversation with Cazzatore the night before, and trying to focus only on the task at hand. I kept repeating to myself a little phrase that I saw on a sign in a shop window the night before, Pace, amore mio. Peace, my love. Let peace fill my troubled soul, still my whirling thoughts and focus my energy. Peace, my aching heart. Peace, my love, myself.

It was a process I expected to go through alone. And it was also a process that I thought would take a maximum of two hours. Boy, was I wrong on both counts. Cazzatore showed up to help me, and even though we had agreed that he would have space- no more phone calls, emails, visits- he still showed up to help me. And though I had mentally scratched him off of my list of friends/lovers/whatever you want to call it, I was relieved to see him. He helped steady me.

He stayed longer than he should have, with important errands and things to do. He stayed as long as he could, so that he could help me when they finally called my number, C335. The A’s and B’s and D’s and F’s and a couple of E’s were flying by, with no sign of a C. A little over an hour passed until a C finally showed up. C300. Okay, at least the C’s were on the little board now. It looked like only one sportello (window, booth) was handling the C’s. Shouldn’t take too long…except in Italy, there is a large difference between should’s and reality. Cazz had to go, though he was distressed. He said to call if there were problems. So he left, and I waited. An hour passed moving the C’s to C302. Then another. C304. Then I realized that I had forgotten to bring the receipt for the permesso from when I applied and paid for it. Did I need it? Oh God. I had no idea. I saw other people, all with the receipt. But I had the letter from the Questura… oh why did I forget that little paper?

I made several phone calls to the few people I know, but there was no one to help. I didn’t want to leave in case the numbers sped up suddenly and my turn arrived, for which I would be absent. I wasn’t sure that I even needed the thing, and it would take me an hour on foot to get back to the apartment and return. Also, I needed to find it. Where had I put it? I just moved into my room, so everything was in a different place. And perhaps it was in a pocket of a pair of pants. I was reeling with the stress, the fact that I hadn’t eaten since a small piece of toast early the day before. I was glued to my little stool in the concrete corner of the building filled with people trying to stay in the boot. And it was freezing.

After several hours, I finally managed to call my housemate who would be home for lunch. She searched my room and couldn’t find it. Then my friend from the bar said he would go to my house on his scooter, look around and bring it to me. We were on the phone while he was searching my room, but all to no avail. He couldn’t find it. It was, after all, a little folded up quarter sheet of paper, of all the importance in the world. He did, however, bring me a little sandwich, for which I was/am supremely grateful. Although, I think fainting might have brought me enough attention to move along my case. But who knows.

As the hours passed and I sat and worried and waited, I began to feel a bonding with those around me. We would recognize each other, because we had all been there for what felt like forever. We were war-buddies. We would smile and nod and silently commiserate. We would reassure each other without saying a word. Almost. We’re almost there. At 2pm all of the sportelli closed for lunch. Not a word to those of us who were waiting. I still didn’t want to leave…the sign was stuck at C312. But would they open again? Or reassign us for another day? I wasn’t about to leave and miss crucial information. Nearing 4pm, Cazzatore called me and said he was done with work and would come by. When he finally walked in, I was hit with relief. He came over to me, and I cried a bit from stress and worry about that receipt. He went and asked a guard who said, yes, it was essential. So at 4:30pm, with the C’s in the 320’s, I zoomed back home on his bike, dug up the receipt, which was in a pencil box in my desk drawer, and zoomed back. C325. A sigh of relief. I still had time.

Finally, around 6pm, my number was up: C335. I had seen another gentleman with a C352, but I’m not sure how he fared. The process was a little nerve-wracking- did I have everything? The man at the window looked confused, as clearly my letter stated a July appointment. Cazz explained everything to the man, and after about half an hour, I left the Questura with a piece of paper in hand, telling me to come back and pick up the actual permesso on the 27th of March. Relief-I did it. With the help of friends, I finally did it. I will try not to focus on the fact that this document will expire in May, and then I will have to figure out how to renew it, or change it or all that because for now, it is done.

I went to meet my bar-friend for a coffee, and then went to meet V for a hamburger. We walked to the movie theater, only to find that there was nothing playing, due to an event being held there. So we went to a bookstore and eventually parted and went to our residences. I am trying to go out more, to build my life as a single gal in one of the most fabulous cities in the world. I am definitely not anywhere close to ready to date, but I am ready to make friends and work on healing myself. A large task, but if I could overcome the bureaucracy in Italy and get the infamous Permesso di Soggiorno, I imagine I will be able to manage this. Eventually.