August 18th-19th in 2015

Well, it’s now the morning of the 18th of August. I’ll sum up what happened yesterday and then try to ramble a bit in the interest of preserving a bit of my own sanity. There is so very little to do here. The situation has not improved in that regard.
After quite a bit of writing yesterday morning at work, I proceeded to study. Japanese flashcards like woah. I really should have been studying them all last week, but I didn’t. It’s amazing how boredom and a lack of opportunities can turn a man away from vice and into responsible adulthood. I’m reviewing all the Genki I words that I forgot. My coworker, Sam, just graduated in December, and he’d just finished Genki II, something that I did 8 years ago and have subsequently forgotten. There seems to be a sense that I should do more and be better. It’s odd. When it comes to speaking, I still manage to do a bit better. I think. I guess it’s just because I’m more entertainingly animated? You learn how to communicate a LOT by face and gesture the longer you live abroad. Theater helped, too. Oh man, yeah. Well, anyway, after studying, I went to Plasse for lunch, but they didn’t have anything that looked healthy and edible, so I ended up going to 7-11 and getting a katsu curry (I was not a good boy), and a Caesar salad. Well, I then ran home because I noticed that, for whatever reason, my shirt, that I’d put on for the first time that day, stank. Sam assures me he didn’t notice, but, then again, it was a lot closer to my nose. Anyway, I was sitting on my stinky floor chair, shaking up my salad to mix it, when it exploded on me. Well, that worked out, I suppose. I put shirt and pants in the washer and completely changed my outfit. I don’t think anybody noticed. Whether this is good or bad, I cannot say. Or, maybe they did? I have no idea.
At three o’clock, we had a meeting with the local English Conversation Club. Apparently it’s a thing on Monday afternoons and Wednesday nights. Our ride was to arrive at 2:50, and so we headed down at 2:45. We had a Japanese escort. I don’t know whether it was for our benefit, or if they were making sure we weren’t off gallivanting on some filthy orgy tour. We weren’t. We got into the station wagon of a little old lady and went to a rundown culture center where we met the other four members (five total) of the Monday class. It was dull. But it was better than the alternative. Their basic English level is low, much lower than at English Corner in China. They’re also all ancient. Astonishingly so. I think the youngest one is in her mid 50’s. But we had a pleasant, if dull, chat. Mostly self-introduction and things of that sort. Nothing earth shaking. I tried to play a little ukulele for them (at their request to bring it), but I had problems with the tuner not working and my phone internet not working. I’m over on data, so they’re throttling me down to prevent my going too far over my data limit. Hooray? Well, regardless, it was a problem, and the singing didn’t go so well.
After that, we were driven back to the school, I gave said driver (whose name escapes me, but who runs the auto shop that my car is insured out of) my insurance paper that she’d forgotten to send out. After that, I had to rush home and wait for a special delivery. I was finally, FINALLY, getting my bank card. Hooray! However, I had to personally be there to sign for it, and I had to wait around for the guy. Then, I drove out to the store and bought a LOT of groceries. Hooray for that, I guess. Stuff for Oz stir fry. It wasn’t as good as I remember it having been, but I’ve got time to get there again. Let’s see what happens in the future. There was also, sadly a lot of Civ III in the day, something that needs to be remedied. As quickly and as strongly as possible. What’s frustrating is that I don’t even really like the game that much. I just kind of . . . play it. Skinner box? I think I need to stop. Well, slightly too late, I went to bed. I didn’t make my step goal yesterday, and I doubt I’ll do it today either. Too much rain.
I got up this morning and resisted the growing temptation to go back to bed at six when my wrist wakes me up. At 6:15 I headed out on a walk, and it’s a good thing that I did. Firstly, it is now pouring as I haven’t seen it pour here before. Ever. So, I got three thousand steps, or so, in. Secondly, it was garbage morning, so I was able to drop off two of the bags that had accumulated due to my recent cleaning. Hooray! I wonder what tomorrow will hold in re exercise. It may be clear tomorrow. Heavens I hope so because this weather is just miserable. It’s still relatively hot (though it is cooler than it’s been), meaning that all of the water just makes things more humid. 95% humidity in the low 80’s with rain. I’m amazed that I’m not made out of mildew at this point.
Got to school, did the morning school exercises, made up new flashcards, and here I am on a study break of sorts. Writing a diary certainly makes me look busy. That’s the key thing, I hope. I’m debating how I’ll split this up once I’ve got internet. It’s over five thousand words and over seven pages of uninterrupted print. There’s a good chance that before I have internet again, I may have a word count of . . . over nine thousand?
A few thoughts have struck me a bit recently, and they struck me a bit more bluntly, for whatever reason, as I was walking today. In the first place, I think about things too much, and never very constructively. For example, I tried to write yesterday, at work, and I hit a lot of snags and the whole thing felt unpleasant and as though I were pulling teeth. So I stopped. This, of course, triggered the usual response to such things: endless angst about how I’m not/won’t be/can’t be a writer, followed by an existential dilemma as I wonder whether I really want to be, followed by the cold calculating side of me declaring that I don’t really want it, in spite of some evidence to the contrary, and the gradual shut down of most emotional systems in favor of getting lunch. Or, still, having random terrible things that have happened to friends pop into my head, out of nowhere, and getting fixated on them. Or randomly meeting a “what-if” and going far too deep down that rabbit hole. It’s a lot of thinking, and angsting, and analyzing, but it’s the same old mess that’s been going on forever. When did I seem to have my shit most together? Almost certainly in Hikone. I can still remember my time there. I decided to strip labels and prior notions and view life, and myself, based on honest observations. I really do think that this is a pretty good way of living, if you can manage it. Well, that’s what I’m trying to do now, and I think that a part of that is just giving up on the past. I realize that I’ve written on this before, but I think that, when you’re living in a place you’ve never been to before, you have a much easier time of doing that. Am I a writer? It’s not really significant. Am I an anything? I don’t know. It’s really hard to say. So, let’s look at it from here on out. Let’s not worry too much about the past. Did things happen there? Yes. And let’s remember it, but to dwell on it is less than useless. It cannot be changed. What’s happened has happened, and allowing myself to dwell on it won’t change a thing. I think that being so far removed from anything that haunts or bothers me may help me to get over everything. What can be done? If I walk and angst or simply walk, then what is the accomplishment at the end? The same. I walked. The angst merely ruined the view.
Writing is hard. I’m not sure if I want to write. I mean, I realize that, when it comes to writing in here, I seem to be doing a lot of it. Even that just sort of comes when it comes. Now, I’ve got a lot of new and interesting (well, somewhat) things to write about. Everything is shiny and new. I’m simply recording everything that I’m doing or thinking in a not too logical fashion. I’m pretty sure that 90% of these entries have been repetitions, but I’m really enjoying writing these. For whatever silly reason. And, you know, that’s why I’m doing this. I’m doing it because I want to, and because the result isn’t nearly so important as the fact that, right now, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing that I reasonably can. Now, a lot of this has to do with the fact that my other alternatives are language study or . . . nothing. Even so, I’m doing it because I want to be doing it and I like doing it. With writing, I think maybe my fears are crippling me more than I’d thought or realized before. I’m so self-conscious about everything that I write or think. I’ve got so many restrictions and so many fears and so many issues. There’s no spontaneous outpouring of sentiment. Even a good writer, somebody who can channel things effectively, still probably would like to have some desire to express what’s being written. When such sentiment does poke its groundhog head out of its hole, it’s quickly frightened and ducks back down. Too many fears. Too many hesitations. Is it original? Is it overly derivative since it’s almost certainly NOT terribly original? Does it show without telling? How’s the dialogue? Is everybody acting in accordance with whatever random philosophy I’ve picked up for that day? It’s hard to simply just write anymore because I’m too caught up in the idea of writing to actually do much of it. I think maybe that’s why short stories worked for me, historically. They were a simple expression of a sudden outpouring. I could just sit down and whip one out. It was nice. I wrote because I wanted to, not for any other reason. There’s a line between making yourself finish things and making yourself hate to start things. I think maybe I ended up getting the worst from both ends. From myself. Going back to the old Sailor Moon fanfiction, what was it that made me want to write that? Well, I got to be a character who I wanted to be more than myself, I got to win a girl that I preferred to any real woman, I got to defeat two of my great enemies from real life in their fictional form. I cared about everybody and everything involved, and it was pure wish fulfillment. What’s not to like? Granted it was terrible, how else could it have been, but it was a pure and fun kind of terrible. Not that I’d like to read it, mind you. Nope. No interest there. Still, it’d be interesting to write something and to feel like that again.
As I look back on all my works, finished and unfinished, my favorite still has to be The Curious Tale of Yuri Yamaguchi and Mizuki Mizuki. When I think about what it was that inspired me to write that, it was, honestly, the characters. I’d met a lady named Yuri Yamaguchi, and she was nice, and I liked her name. She had expensive tastes, so she’d sometimes go by “Gucci Guchi”. It was adorable, but I liked the general sound of her full name. Yuri Yamaguchi. There was a magical rhythm to it that just spoke to me. I’d just repeat her name like a mantra for a while. Then, for whatever reason, I was on Wikipedia and saw that Mizuki could function as a personal or a family name. The thought that there could be a girl named “Mizuki Mizuki” amused me endlessly. So, now my mantra got longer, and the girls started to form around their names. They just seemed to emerge once I had named them. I was on a walk one night, and I got the idea for the story, and I just rushed it out. The second story in the group wasn’t as great, but it was still something I wanted to write. The third one wasn’t great at all. I simply wrote it because of a deal I’d made with Amber (when we were first unofficially dating) that if I’d finish three stories in a week, she’d take her shirt off. It was the weakest story, and, while certainly written in pursuit of something I wanted, it wasn’t written for its own sake. And it suffered.
Writing should be fun, and, even if I’m bad at it, if I like it, I should keep doing it. That being said, I really can’t allow myself to pretend that being a writer is my dream anymore. It was my dream when I was at an age where grandiose dreams are easy to come by. It was also an age when things seemed to have a strength, a purity, and a vitality that they don’t know. It probably had more to do with a lack of neurological development than any particular glory in the era of junior high and high school. My emotional cry, “I am . . . I MUST BE a writer!” is and was dumb and flawed. My coldly logical counter attack, “You don’t write, you’re not,” misses the point. Whether I am or not isn’t important. Writing isn’t key to anything. It’s not important. It maybe was, it maybe will be, but it’s not, in and of itself, particularly significant. Will I ever write? I hope so. Will I ever write for a living? Doubtful, but possible. Will I ever be 16 year old me’s dream of a /writer/? Almost certainly not. That’s probably a good thing.
One thought that came back to me, though, that was an idea of 16 year old me’s. He thought that lying was especially bad because, in general, you lied to cover up something that was bad in the first place. A double wrong. “Good men don’t need lies,” I’d say, though much more poetically (and pretentiously). Well, as I see the drama unfolding at The Starlight that may bring down the theater, I can’t help but to remember that sentiment. My goodness, how much easier it would be if all of these people told the truth. The problem is, they can’t. They’ve got too much they’re hiding and too weak of a position. There are things and ideas and events that are not discussed because to do so mean that honesty were an option, and they’d all rip each other new ones and we’d have a lovely little bit of mutually assured destruction. They do bad things, they lie. When they’re found out, they’re usually found out through dishonest means, meaning that to expose one lie means to expose oneself. Everybody is living a life pretending something else is (or isn’t) the case. People know that others are aware that a lot of it isn’t real, but not even they know what they know, so how can they guess what others guess? It just ends up in a gigantic mess.
I guess, what I’m saying, is that when you have to be honest, you have to face things as they are. I don’t like my history of weaseling out of honest. It’s too Pharisaical. All of my technicalities bother me. Yet, when I think about the one big technicality that I still cling to, I hesitate to give it up, even as I would not like to give up all of the actually forbidden things I allow myself. It’s difficult. I also find that, at least in some circles, this is an area where I must either actively deceive, or, depend upon a mutually unspoken, understood, self-censorship and deception. Still, allowing me this one sweet hypocrisy, maybe I can apply this lesson elsewhere. Better to improve on a few points than on none at all, eh? Obviously best to just do it all, but, frankly, I don’t see that happening any time soon.
Another thing that kind of bothers me is my sense that because I start something and try to get someone else to finish, I’m somehow less responsible. I remember for a long time, I had a rule: Girl has to kiss first. She’d be charmed and romanced and being held and nuzzled, but her lips had to go to mine. I don’t remember when I got rid of this rule, but I’m glad it fell by the wayside. I think I may have put it in place after some of Courtney’s post breakup accusations, but, I don’t really remember. Anyway, the same thing happened again and again as I got older. I remember Lee, in her underwear, in my room, and I’d tell her that I was going to leave the room and she should take them off. She refused. She was wise to do so. I wanted her naked, but I didn’t want to take the full responsibility of actually stripping her and feeling fully culpable. Somehow, by not being in the room, and by not physically doing it, I was somehow deflecting blame. Now, she’d have let me fuck her, and she’d have climbed up on top and gone to town. In retrospect, she was offering to do some pretty explicit things that I hadn’t quite figured out yet. I regret that I didn’t go through with it. But, same with Amanda. I got access to her breasts by gradually moving her around during a massage so that first contact was “accidental”, and things progressed, generally, by me getting her to instigate. Stupid and dumb. An instigator is just as culpable as the one who actually carries out the action. The difference is, it’s almost always more fun to finish than to just start and then fall off. My goodness do I wish I’d acted on those impulses.
Along those lines, I do miss the sensation, years ago, of seeing forbidden hints of flesh. I miss the first tentative gropes towards the rounded outlines of a breast. I miss the breathless exhilaration that comes from finally getting access to something that’s been out of reach for ages. I miss that sense of exploration and that sense of difficulty. It was harder then, it was harder to get at, and it was harder to work up the courage to act. The act had significance. I remember shaking as I made out with some random girl at a party in 10th grade. My last two conquests? Honestly, not even really worth going into. Part of this is on an emotional level, but I think part of it is on a personal experience level. I think that more of it has to do with porn. I watch a lot of it. Too much. And I have for years. Now, in a world without internet, I find my access to it greatly diminished. I wonder just what that’s going to do to me. Sure, there’s some, but even when it’s there, it’s either not video, or it’s ancient tiny little Kazaa downloads from the mid 2000’s that I found somewhere. I really haven’t felt much in the way of strong lust in a long time. There’s a general lust, but seldom a specific one. I really do think that it’s warped my mind, in a way.
There’s something to be said for this out-of-the-way, countryside, living. The slower pace, the deprivation, the lack of things that you’ve always taken for granted makes you consider things differently and makes you look at the world around you in a very different way. I remember, last night, I was at the grocery story, and I was trying to find some balsamic vinegar, and couldn’t. I was somewhat put out by this, then I realized something: so what? It’s not the end of the world. I had wanted to make oil and vinegar dip for my baguette. Well, I’d attempt it with a thin red wine vinegar. I actually liked it. It wasn’t the same, but it was pretty okay. The same with the baguette. I remember being annoyed that the bread selection at Plasse wasn’t what I wanted. Then, I started to think to myself, “How dare this half closed, largely empty, shopping center in a dying town, in the middle of nowhere, not have a decent French pastry section,” and I shut myself right up. It’s perspective, and it’s a good and useful one to keep in mind.
In writing this, I’m starting to feel lighter and more awake. It’s a good feeling. One I haven’t had in a very long time. It took seven and a half thousand words and hours of writing, not to mention quite a number of random days, but here we have it. There’s finally something worth saying. There’s something beautiful that comes from honest. From honestly facing things. From seeing things as they are. I think maybe I’ll be able to find that again. Man I hope so. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to believe, I don’t know where to go, and that’s fine. I’m just going to do. Let’s see what happens. Thinking a lot hasn’t helped me a great deal thus far anyway. (7,777 words at finish. Lucky maybe?)
Tuesday afternoon passed without anything of great import. The rain was exceptionally strong, so we weren’t allowed to drive for fear of flooding, landslides, or simply skidding off the road due to our own gaijin dumbassery. So, the day was long and boring. By the end of it, I was exhausted. For whatever reason, doing nothing tends to make me more tired. Maybe it’s the fate of the chronically under slept, but I find that as long as I keep moving, I can usually function. It’s prolonged periods of doing nothing where fatigue overwhelms. Like a shark, as long as I can keep moving, I’m fine. Work consisted of studying flashcards and staring at various textbooks (and a map) as well as finding something, anything that looked vaguely work related on kindle or my cell. It was miserable. I was told that today, Wednesday, we’d be allowed to drive all day. Turns out that didn’t happen, but more on that later. Back to Tuesday. After work, Sam and I went to a place that allegedly has tempura udon, something I’ve been questing after since I got here. For whatever reason, I just can’t seem to find the stuff. Well, at it turns out, it’s just like every other place here and closes in the middle of the day. I’d have thought that 5 PM would be an okay time for a restaurant to be open, but, nope. Closed. Of course. So, that being impossible, we went to Nafco, and we bought a few supplies. I got an actual chair and some Japanese Febreeze, and he got some . . . toiletries of some kind? I don’t entirely remember. After that, he wanted to get gyoza. I also kind of wanted gyoza, but I was also hungry right then. I also thought that, as I had bought all of that food, I should probably eat it. So, I went to the store to get some more food (I needed garlic and chicken, but I ended up buying slightly more), and then went home to cook. One thing I’ve got to do, from today, is to stop eating sweet Japanese pastries. On the way home, I ate a cream croissant. Not again, for a long while, at least. I also had some sweet apple pie bread, which I ended up throwing away before the end because it was bad. Then I cooked my stir fry. Better than yesterday, but still not great. I’m realizing that I don’t have the time to cook this all the time. I think I’ll have to stick to stuff that’s easier. There’s just no time to spend an hour making a meal every night. Maybe if I turn up the TV really loud and use it as listening practice? Well, after dinner, it was still pouring, so I took a shower and shaved etc., then I called mum and we talked for a while. As it seems that internet won’t be forthcoming for another two weeks, at least, it seemed prudent to talk to her about that subject. Then, I read a lot of I Am a Cat and went to sleep. I’m setting the air conditioner timer to longer settings in hopes that I’ll sleep longer. We’ll see how well that works out. Hopefully pretty well. Last night was the first go at it since I’d started shortening its bursts. My electricity bill was not nearly as high as I had feared, so I’m using more AC now and feeling fine about it.
This morning (Wednesday the 19th), I got up at 6 and then went on my half hour walk from 6:15 until 6:45. Then I came home, ate a snack, showered, dried in my room (a step entirely necessary here), then finished getting ready, ate breakfast, and drove to work. I think it’s an utter waste to drive here to the BOE. It’s about 5-8 minutes from my house on foot. The only issue is that if it rains, I’m stuck walking back in it, and there’s a 60% chance of rain today. To say nothing of the fact that I’d be carrying my half gallon tea bottle, the umbrella, my school bag, and my spare shoes. I wish that we could simply carry backpacks. Oh well.
Hirayama Sensei told us yesterday that we could drive around all day today to make up for yesterday’s 8 hours of suck. He knew he’d be out of the office. However, realizing that he’ll be out of the office all day today (he’s driving the superintendent around to some conference), and realizing that we’re helpless gaijin, we’ve been told to sit at our desks for fear that something bad may happen if we’re out all day with nobody here to help us in case of an issue. Also, he told Sam and me that we may have to shave. Logan and Jose, our predecessors, had told us that we wouldn’t Sam being black, and me being me, we both have serious shave bump problems, so, Hirayama Sensei is seeing what he can pull to try to get us out of it. Man I hope that works. He’s also pulling to get me internet sooner than two weeks, so we’ll see how effective of an advocate he is. Man I hope he’s super effective. That’d be pretty darned nice at the moment.
So, yeah, that’s been the morning. Disappointment, fear, flashcards, and typing this up. Not an auspicious start to the day. I think I’m going to go insane if it keeps going like this. It’s not yet ten, but I feel like I’ve been trapped on an airplane, in the middle seat, for hours. I can’t really leave my desk save to go to the bathroom. And they wonder why I drink a half gallon of tea before 11. It gives me an excuse to move!
Reading I Am a Cat is interesting. I really like it quite a bit. Soseki seems sympathetic to, but also derisive towards, everything. I love his bizarre aesthete character, Waverhouse in this translation. He’s so fantastic. He attempts to be a Wilde character in real life, but with a thoroughly Japanese bent. A lot of the book focuses on the bizarre blending of east and west in early 20th century Japan. It’s odd. The more I look at things in the west, the more I see WWI and the point where the old world died and our current age began. There’s a clear demarcation. Japan has its own shift, of course, in the Meiji, but after that, things went a bit more organically. Even the horrors of the 30’s and 40’s seem to be a temporary break in a process that had been going on since at least 1870, effectively since the 1860’s. I love to read it, but I do wonder about style. In rereading some of the past writings on my computer, I’m kind of astonished. The style is bad. It’s really bad. It’s overlong, it’s contradictory, and in its attempt to provide a good deal of clarity, it ends up just being wishy-washy and indecisive. Impressively bad, but bad nonetheless. (I would like you to not that, as of the end of this sentence, the total word count in this sentence is over nine thousand.) At any rate, it’s frustratingly bad and weak, and it takes away from so much. Let me see if I can find a particularly egregious example. ::looks it over:: On second thought, let’s not. Let’s just . . . not. Simply take my word for it, if you please. Now, if memory serves, I was writing that for Amanda and had a word count goal to get to in order to be in her good graces, but, at the same time . . . just what the hell! It was and is truly awful. I can’t really bear to read it or to think about it. I really need to do something about that. I used to be really proud of my style. Nowadays, I’m not sure if it was ever good. It either got really bad, or else it was never any good.
Considering this entry, I’m half tempted to post it as a draft, but then to have the whole thing sent to Courtney for careful editing. It’s really beyond me to make heads or tails of this mess. It goes from topic to topic, but it’s not very hypnotic.
I want to smoke so badly right now. I don’t like cigarettes, but I really really find myself wanting one simply because it’s the closest I can get to a vape. Again, I doubt it’s the nicotine. I haven’t had any in my system for nearly three weeks. It’s just the desire to be doing something with my hands. It’s such a lovely compliment to any activity you’re doing. Book and a vape. TV and a vape. Bath and a vape. Walk and a vape. It’s some little bit of extra stimulation that sweetens any other experience. It’s the sprinkles on ice cream. It’s that little bit of pepper in the soup. It’s that little thing, barely significant in and of itself, that makes everything around it just that much better. If I could but vape here, not that I could anyway, in the office, but if I could, oh how much more bearable this would be. Taste with no solid substance. The movement of air into my lungs. The resistance as I drag, requiring that extra bit of effort that makes everything feel so thoroughly pleasant. It’s a series of tiny stimulations that, all together, achieve a sublime sweetness that can either be a minor diversion in and of itself, or, better yet, can be the zest that takes life from one plane of existence to another. I’ve even thought about cigars or pipes, things I’ve smoked periodically in the past, but I’m fairly certain they just won’t do. They are nicotine delivery systems, to be sure, but neither of these are inhaled. Cigars and pipes, things that I do and have enjoyed in the past, don’t sound appealing to me at all (not that there are any in this town). It’s the feeling of smoke in your throat. It’s the sucking that produces the drag. It’s the physical sensation of the act, not the chemicals it delivers. Goodness I miss vaping. Even my nicotine level was low. The only reason I bothered with nicotine in the first place was that otherwise the vapor just felt strange. Now, that having been said, I’m finding my throat much improved even within these two weeks. My singing is better, my voice is clearer, my ability to alter volume is improved. So, obviously I was paying a price for my hobby. I’ve thought about buying a hookah, but, I’m not sure if, in the end, this is a good idea. I think that the best thing to do is to wait at least two months before allowing myself any smokable. They say that it usually takes two months to break a habit. Well, I’m eleven days under halfway there.
On an unrelated note, I just received a free drink from the Yakult lady. I asked her to give her favorite, and so I have a sweet coffee one. Hooray? I’ll let you know how it is when I drink it. Hmmm. It’s not bad. It’s not great. Well, the price was right and the little old lady selling it is/was super adorable.
The sheer quantity of my boredom is overwhelming. It’s 2:13. I still have over two hours left, and I feel as though I’m going to go mad. I’m so angry and frustrated at sitting here all day, again, doing nothing, that I feel ready to punch people. My legs are twitchy from sitting at this worthless desk for so many hours with nothing to do, but being unable to do anything unrelated to work. Due to a rather stretched logic, I’m able to read some Soseki from time to time without worrying too much, not that people can really understand what I’m doing. Even so, even then, when I read, I am still worried, and I have to put the book down far too frequently, which disturbs the whole damned thing. It’s hot in the office. Not the oppressive, mind killing, hot that would be useful at the moment. Not even the sleepy hot. No, it’s the angry hot. The kind of just-barely-too-hot hot that makes you want to murder everything in existence. Especially when there’s nothing you can do about it. Just nothing. All these words have wasted precisely two minutes. How am I to stand the remaining two hours and (now) fourteen? Making matters better for my back, but worse for my comfort, the back on my chair is purely decorative and cannot be adjusted to provide actual support. I suppose that, in a few months, with wonderful muscles and perfect posture, I’ll be thrilled with things. At the moment, I am not. Making things worse, I’ve gained sufficient weight that the shirt that I’m wearing is too tight in the shoulders, making it essentially impossible to find a comfortable position. It’s hot. I’m bored. I’m tired. My chair sucks. There’s no hope for respite for another two hours and twelve minutes. This is frustrating beyond my capacity to express. Worst, it’s yet another day of this. If they tell me tomorrow that I’ve got to spend another day at this desk, I’ll walk to Kagoshima c and swim home. I suppose that, 75% of the way into a gallon of tea and after two coffees, it’s natural that I’d be a bit jumpy and jittery, but this is excessive. I’m flailing my feet. My knees actively hurt with inaction. I can only excuse myself to go to the bathroom every so often. I’m rationing it to every hour (though it may be roughly closer to 45 minutes). Thank goodness everyone is amazed at my tea drinking ability. It provides me with a plausible excuse. Still, the half-gallon is half empty, and I’ve been here not quite a third of the time it’s got to last me. Not a good sign. My goodness for a vape. Or a smoke. Or a shotgun to the face. Doesn’t matter. Just give me something to end this hideous boredom. Or, barring that, allow me to drop the pretense of working and let me simply read my book. Not idea, but at least it would be something. I simply can’t study anymore. My brain won’t allow it. I’m getting too angry and frustrated. I just can’t focus on anything. This is just all way, way, too much.
Lunch went well yesterday. I ran to Plasse and got a sushi platter. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t great, but it was pleasant enough. I thought it came with wasabi, but, as it turns out, it was soy sauce. As a result, I was somewhat more disappointed than I otherwise would have been. When I get some today, I’ll be sure to grab my own stock of wasabi. Mmmm. Wasabi. Anyway, school consisted of a whole lot of nothing. An offensive quantity of it. Eventually, though, as the office was mostly empty, Sam and I spent the last hour talking politics and society. It was certainly better than sitting there. After that, it was time to go home. I piddled around a bit. Can’t really remember what I did beyond change my clothes. I’d intended to bow out of conversation class on Wednesday night (it was Sam’s class, I just agreed to go because I had nothing to do), so I waited and waited, but, in the end, decided that I really needed to go as I’d said that I would. So I hurried to 7-11 for dinner and literally jogged part of the way back. I was very worried about missing out on food or conversation. Well, Sachiko arrived as I was about two bites away from done. I greeted her with a mouth full of food, but I greeted her on time. We waited a moment for Sam, who was somehow or other taking a while in his apartment. Then, this complete, we went to the center.
It was in a different building this time. It was in a nicer, newer seeming place. Maybe not newer, but certainly better kept. Lot of old wood in it. It smelled amazing. Wood and tatami and the whole shebang. Anyway, we had a great time. Class was only an hour (as opposed to two hours for my class), so we had plenty to say and it ended too soon rather than too late (infinitely better). I’ve been invited to join a tennis group and to start tentatively attending tea ceremonies. That’s pretty exciting! Then, after a fun drive home with a guy who has more hobbies than I can imagine (and far too much money to be in Satsuma, it seems), I went on another walk. Morning walks are going well, and I was already over on steps, so the night walk was more for fun, exploring, and shopping. I had to grab some more mikan, as I’d eaten all of them during . . . lunch, I think it was. Well, that went well. Then night shower, reading, and bed.
I got up this morning, mucked about a bit on my limited internet (I’m trawling Tinder again these days). Then, my half hour morning walk. I love bumping into the little old ladies in town first thing in the morning. They always give me their bright turtle grins when I wish them a good morning. It also appeared to be trash day for burnables again, but not at the bin near me, and it’s non burnables that I really need to get out right now, so I was disappointed. Then, breakfast, shower, and general ready getting. I’m at the office now, and there’s no sign of Hirayama Sensei. This is upsetting, selfishly enough, because it means that Sam and I can’t go driving, and we’re doomed/damned to yet another day of nothing for a full eight hours. Also, we haven’t gotten any word from him and he hasn’t responded to my LINE message. So we’re a bit worried that he may be sick. I’d gladly be sick and miss today if it meant I didn’t have to be here. Oh Hirayama Sensei, I would trade with you!
There was a minor event to break up the monotony. We’ve had a visitor from Aomori here, and we knew he was some important figure. However, Sam and I couldn’t figure out who he was or why he was here. Well, apparently Satsuma and some town in Aomori have a sister relationship, and the kids were visiting. Their goodbye ending closemony took place down stairs, and between the walk down, the speeches, and the walk up, we killed, maybe, twenty minutes? Still, any time not at this desk is good time. It’s harder and harder to study as I get more and more frustrated. My shirt, at least, fits today, but I still feel so tight that it’s almost as bad as yesterday. If this were Chengdu, I’d get a massage. If this were Chengdu . . . a lot of things would be different. Still, pretty glad it’s not Chengdu. I’ve read that the farther away you are from something, the easier it is to idealize it. Well, I must be pretty far from Chengdu, because it’s starting to sound nice. Then I remember the air.
The air is something that’s been striking me in Satsuma. Because of the mountains, and the heat, and the rain, and the humidity, there’s generally a mist here. It’s very seldom ever clear. There’s always some haze about, and it’s hard to get used to. In Chengdu, you’d see it, and the stronger it was the worse off you were, and the weaker it was, the better you were. Here, I have to ignore the haze in terms of its effect on my health. There isn’t one. It’s not smog, it’s humidity. On one relatively clear-ish night, I saw more stars out here than I ever saw back home. That’s a pretty good indicator of how good the air is around here. And how remote we truly are.
I love to watch the mist, though. I love to watch clouds get caught going up the mountains. I like to feel as though I’m in some haze at the edge of the world, and that, outside of my little circle of visibility, nothing exists. You never have that in Michigan. It’s too flat. You can almost always see the trees. They’re a boundary that you can reach out and touch, very nearly. Or, if not the trees, there’s some house. There’s always some close thing that’s a border for you. Here we have the mountains. And beyond the mountains, we have more mountains. I can see why painters loved the landscapes here. I love how, the farther out I look, the more abstract the mountains become until it’s just a barely moving line of washed out gray against the sky, with a slightly more actually visible mound in front of it. I love to see the gradation of color in real life. It’s just so lovely when things look like this. In Hikone, of course, we had mountains, but we had the lake to open things up. In Kainan we had lots and lots of crowded houses. In Semboku, we were up on the side of the biggest mountain in the area. Here? We’re nestled together in the myriad scattered valleys that make up northern Kagoshima. The borders of your world can change so quickly. The mist, though, that beautiful mist that conceals the world, that kills the world outside of our tiny sphere of visibility, it’s truly lovely. Truly just lovely. I feel like the hero of a science fiction opera. Me alone in the middle of the mist.
As for today, what does it hold? Periodic trips to the bathroom, obviously, as I find excuses to get up and walk around a little bit. My 64 oz. bottle is already getting pretty low and it’s not yet 10. Not a good sign. Hopefully we hear from Hirayama Sensei, if for no other reason, than because we’re a bit worried. After a long day of nothing, I think I just may attend that tennis class. Sadly, it’s 7:30 to 9:30, and bedtime for me is 10, so it’ll be a bit tight, but I think I can manage it. I should probably buy a beach towel to put on my car’s seat to absorb sweat as I drive home. It also means another meal out as opposed to cooking. There’s just not enough time.
I think some of my back trouble is caused by sleeping on a relatively rigid surface while being monstrously overweight. Hopefully that ends relatively quickly. It’s annoying to realize that, when losing weight, when learning a language, when doing anything particularly worthwhile, it’s important to just do tiny bits here and there to add up over time. There’s no shortcut. It’s frustrating, but it’s life. We must endure it somehow or other.
Hirayama Sensei appeared after lunch, the very picture of health and manly beauty. No idea what was up. Still, at least he was feeling well. Lunch was another simple affair. Sushi, salad, mikan, and yogurt. I think this is going to be the plan for a while. I’m desperately hungry today, and, frankly, none of those things sound particularly great, but I’ll have to have a go at it. It’s all relatively healthy. Ish.
At any rate, there’s, effectively, nothing worth saying about work yesterday. Me sitting at a desk. I couldn’t get into the new novel very well while pretending to work, so, I set it aside for now. After work, I went home, relaxed a bit, then got dinner. It was gyoza, salad, and . . . something that escapes me. Mikan of course, but I think something else. Have I mentioned just how much I love mikan? Also, I love the single serving size bags of mixed greens you can buy here. (I also realized that, as I have lots of food and will be going out of town for a week on Monday, it’s mostly going to waste). Then, it was time for a long walk. Or, maybe I did walk then 7-11? I think that was probably what happened. Anyway, then, shortly thereafter, it was time for tennis club. Super fun! I was worn out in minutes, but I played through it because I was enjoying myself so much. We start by doing just the four inner boxes, then we play half court, right and left, and finally, after the break at the one hour mark, we divide up into doubles and play. It was amazingly fun! But for Sam, I’d have been the worst player out there (by far) so thank goodness for Sam! Anyway, then I drove us home. Long shower sequence wherein I have to do all the crap to keep down shave bumps, and then I went to bed. I tried to use some of the old ASMR recorded videos that I’d stored on my old cell (wish I hadn’t deleted the other ones), but I had a hard time sleeping. Not sure if it was the ASMR, or if it was the fact that I’d taken over 20K steps that day, or what it was. My legs were hurting and jumpy in a way they haven’t been in a long time. Come to think of it, they’re like that at the office. Even know I’m playing tootsie footsie with the floor. Well, so be it. I hate to admit it, but these work Crocs I have are comfortable. It shames me beyond words, but I do have to confess it. Thankfully, a lot of people here wear regular Crocs, so at least I’m not party to that particular shame.
Got up this morning and went on the usual walk. I was sore, but the walking helped quite a bit. I thought about staying in bed less than I had the day before, but I did, momentarily, try to weasel myself out of the walk. Didn’t work. I made one of my goals, though. I wanted to figure out how to walk to Nafco. I did it. I don’t know that I need anything from Nafco in the near future, and I doubt that I will, and even if I did, it would make far, FAR, more sense to drive, but I made it to Nafco and back. It took, oddly enough, almost exactly thirty minutes. It’s a pity the view is disappointing, or else this would be a perfect morning walk. I think once I’ve explored enough, I’ll start a steady route by the river. Speaking of which, I need to write about that river and what happened yesterday. But I’ll finish today (the 21st, Friday).
After breakfast, I took out my burnables, and came to work. I was dreading it, of course, Sam assured me that today, of course, we were going to go to our schools. After all, Hirayama Sensei had said we would. He was also sure that we were getting a grand tour of the schools with somebody to take us. I was sure he was wrong on the second part. Turns out I’ve been right on both, so far. I’ll hold out a little bit of hope that we’ll be able to go out driving this afternoon, but, really, it’s not overly likely.
However, a nice little thing broke up the morning. We were went out as part of a work detail to help to move what appeared to be some manner of palanquin. According to Sam, it’s the platform that the Satsuma float will ride on top of. Well, we did drop it off at the place that stores the float, so, that makes some sense, I suppose. It was lovely! It was the traditional handicraft center. A big room that smelled wonderful! It made me think of the various old lady houses I’ve particularly enjoyed growing up. For whatever reason, it especially makes me think about Mrs. Albright’s house, which is especially odd as the last time I was there was over twenty years ago, and it was demolished over a decade ago. Oh well. Smells have the power to conjure up quite a bit. The drive to and from the center was really lovely, of course. Most drives here are. I love being driven in this place. You can look out the window and just admire everything around you. It’s just too lovely to really get into. Making it even better, the school’s van was low on gas, so we had to get some, then, we went to the wrong place first, which was wonderful because it meant that we had more time to not be sitting at our desks. Additional exercise, beautiful views, and not being chained to this desk. It’s really quite lovely. I don’t know what kind of job I want, but I know that I cannot be chained to a desk. Even if I have to someday take a job that doesn’t pay as well as a desk job, I just can’t be chained to a desk. As long as I can walk around sometimes, I’m fine, but to be here all day . . . I’m going mad. On a secondary note, on the way home from the little errand, I finally figured out where the Italian place is! Hooray!