a month will be Christmas. In the cities have already taken the decorations, the gifts started anxiety, and complaints because there is money. And the hypocritical smile in advertising is already making the rounds all over Italy. Among a month will be Christmas as usual and I'm growing into a panic, for what, since I can remember, will be remembered as the worst day of the year. Because let's face it: Christmas is not a party for people like me who still think I represent most of the Italian population: a family devastated and disastrous, two parents who hate each other, no relatives with whom I have nothing to do alone, without money, without faith, without hope. And I know that I will arrive soon, the only question that will get me after the greeting ritual is: "So, how many exams you miss them?". And maybe also reason, why should I finish this university. But shit, instead of be pointing fingers, why not try to ask what is the problem? Or better yet, why not try to keep his mouth shut? Shit, shit, shit. I had never taken the anxiety with Christmas so early. Shit. One more month, and already I can not wait to see me in January, when the street sweepers will clean the dirt left from the old year, always too many vendors selling out the inventory, people would revert to the usual shit, fake without doing good, will return to think for themselves, trying to buy a shirt that had seen earlier in the season but were not allowed to buy, however, complaining that the price seems too high. And I'll be back then to be alone without feeling so different. And at least until Easter, I can breathe a bit '. And I thought about going to work on Christmas Day, watch the sad faces of other people who pretend to enjoy it makes me feel better. But we know the grandparents, older, and perhaps will be the last I'll be spending Christmas with them. I can not lose. I do not want to lose it. And then I put aside pride and sadness, and go. Still missing a month, and already beginning to miss the air. Fuck.
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