Imprisonment in Italy
My life of crime
Guilty. I’m locked up and the key has been thrown far and yonder. I’m in imprisonment in Italy and all because I dared to reacquire my Italian Citizenship.
God help me.
The Italian government requires that should you have the audacity to try and reacquire your citizenship, you must wait at home, between the hours of 7am and 9pm for 45 days. You are unable to leave the house, not even to go shopping. This is my imprisonment in Italy.
Remember when you dared to buy something from a store and organised a delivery? Their terms are, please stay at home between 8am and 6pm ALL FUCKING DAY. You think that’s tough? Even the phone companies or utility companies do it, stay home until we come and set you up, cut you off or read your meter. This may happen between 7am and 10pm. Ever had that? How about doing that for 45 days??? No? This is my imprisonment in Italy. I cannot leave my apartment for 45 effing days while I wait for the immigration office to visit my apartment and verify that I live here so I can proceed to step 1,853.
I’ve emailed friends jokes, reacquainted myself with bookface, over-tweeting to the point of being blocked, instagramming, whatsapping, snapchatting, youtubing, Redditing and other things that you would never have heard of 10 years ago because of my sheer boredom from my imprisonment in Italy.
I’ve called friends I haven’t heard from in YEARS – who ask immediately if everything is ok, is the family ok? Did anyone die? Nope, I’m just wanting to catch up because you know, it’s been about 5 years since we’ve seen each other – I’m guessing liking each other’s bookface posts doesn’t count. No, everything really is fine, I’m just bored out of my mind and thought I’d go through my contacts and I’m up to B. Really, how are you Bacca?
45 days at home without leaving the house, really is an imprisonment in Italy. I mean, I live in Florence! I LOVE going out and walking past the Duomo, the statue of David, the beautiful Arno and simply enjoying these statues. They have already become a distant memory to me as I stare out of my window, looking out at the neighbours windows at our internal courtyard and wonder whether it’s a nice day outside. Is it sunny? I do all this, while I wonder whether I’m ready to call Barry and see how he’s been these last 11 years.
Didn’t I read in history that Moses or Ali Baba or Noah or was it that Jedi dude called Luke something walker… didn’t one of those guys have to walk across a desert barefoot for 45 days? Man… I’m so envious. I’d LOVE to be able to leave the apartment and walk across a hot desert just to leave my apartment for 5 minutes. Ohhhh… this imprisonment in Italy is really something. I’m looking back at all the work I’ve recently completely and thinking about A Boy Called Q, my short story about a guy who commits suicide and at the time, I didn’t really understand what could drive someone to do something like this.
But now I do. I’m wondering if I can be assured that if I jump from my 3rd floor window that I won’t survive with minor injuries. Perhaps I can finally leave the apartment and climb up onto the roof, perhaps I’ll sing the Titanic theme as I take a big leap into the air and hold up my middle finger on the way down. I’d better check there’s no garbage there to save me, knowing my luck, I’ll land in used nappies and survive to tell the tale. I’d have to come back, those stinking nappies stuck to me, everyone’s garbage staining my clothes, days’ of sunbaked garbage just permeating my skin…and then, immigration will knock on the door and I’ll be standing there with shit in my hair.
Can you get arrested for throwing used nappies at an immigration official in Italy? Even if it’s at your own doorstep? Maybe I’ll hug them at that point, they’ll think I’m so happy to see them…until the smell shoots up their noses and they suddenly realise, they really have shit me.
Barry wasn’t home, I’m going to give Brendan a call as he’s next on my list.
This is it, this is my imprisonment in Italy and I’m on day 1. I have 44 days to go. How will I ever survive this?
Pssst…I need your help
Fox Emerson costs money to run, and most people think I earn a million dollars because I have several books. Spoiler Alert: I don’t earn enough to cover running costs.
You could help by simply downloading ANY of my books on Amazon or Smashwords. There’s a free one, a cheap one and the most expensive one is US$2.99
Also, if you like my blogs, maybe you could take a few seconds to let me know?
Are you a reader? You might like my work. Or maybe someone you know might like my work? Forward it on. Share a book or a post on your social media. Every tiny bit helps and it means I can keep writing free content.