April 5th through 7th Boredom, Terror, Dread, and Dreams in 2016

The party at Masaaki’s house, on the 5th, was very fun. Much better than I’d anticipated. Sadly, I got there late and took some guff for it. We had tons of food. I brought two bottles of Lambic fruit beer with me, and his wife liked it. We had a bunch of food from Wai Wai, and also food that they had cooked. I couldn’t find the place, but ended up meeting somebody who, evidently, knew me (I think maybe she’d seen me in tea ceremony? No clue) and she took me to Masaaki’s. The owner of Waiwai was also there, which was super fun. Lots of talking and drinking. Way too much drinking. I stumbled home super drunk, finding my resolution to be moderate destroyed by Masaaki’s desire for me to keep drinking, and, after having consumed some ice cream and Pocari Sweat, went to bed. Sleep didn’t go well. Firstly I was too drunk. Also my stomach has been bad in general. It was just not a good time. I barely slept.
The morning of the 6th, I got up, and I came to the BOE, where I sat for half an hour before going to Yamasaki’s start of the year ceremony for the new 1st graders. I got to sit in the VIP section with the other swells. Just as well, that morning I’d come in to find a picture of me in the newspaper on my desk. It was the best ceremony I’ve been to yet, namely because the principal was speaking for an audience of first graders.
Then, I returned to the BOE (There ceremony lasted roughly forty five minutes). After that, Sam and I debated going to Inoue for lunch. We decided against it as Waiwai had been crazy the day before. It’d taken us an hour and a half to drive there, eat, and go back to the BOE, and we didn’t have that much time as we had 1:30 ceremonies. Primo Passo was deserted, only the chubby 7-11 guy who I see all the time (anywhere I go) was there. Well, we ate, then it was off to the apartment to . . . do nothing. Then I went to Miyachu, and we had our ceremony. It was nice to see Hamasaki-san there, but we didn’t get to talk. Nagata, the monk, was there, which surprised me. He’d been president of the PTA at Miyachu (I think) but his daughter graduated. Still, it was nice. I bumped into him at the BOE later and we’ll drink sometime soon. I hope.
Matsumoto Sensei’s replacement seems unreal. Just unreal. He’s got the build of an anorexic baby bird. He moves as though an interpretive dancer is in an especially foul mood, yet must strangle a ferret trying to claw its way out of his ass. Also dashes of penguin? No clue. His face never seems to close. His mouth is in a constant “I’m surprised” face from Adventure Time, lips round and jutting out, all teeth revealed. Yet everything else is so comically serious. I really REALLY hope that I like him, because he’s just bizarre to look at. A very big change from chic, fashionable, easy-on-the-eyes Matsumoto.
After that, I returned to the BOE. And waited around. And then went home. I played Civ III trying to stay awake, and got bored with that. I feel like I did some other things too, but that very well could have taken up more time than I’m currently remembering. I woke up this morning and was furious at myself for not playing guitar. I then went to 7-11 and ate a ton of unhealthy food. Then I came home, dicked around online, and went to bed, read some of The Odyssey (embarrassed that I’ve never actually then, feelings were overwhelming, and I woke up.
The feelings were intense after waking, as well, and I could still feel her. I realized it was an important dream and that I’d probably forget it, so, I made the decision to record it so that I wouldn’t forget it. I did this knowing that if I did, I’d basically not be able to get back to sleep. And, wouldn’t you know it, I couldn’t. I decided that it was a good idea, after a while of not sleeping, to try to get on Facebook and see if Amanda still wanted to hear about dreams. She’s blocked me. Guess that’s my answer.
Got up this morning after having gotten a bit of sleep. FitBit is convinced that I did, however. Forgot to take my morning pills, something that I’m sure is going to catch up with me. Now, I’m sitting at the BOE, wondering whether I should take a half day today. Part of me wants to, part of me REALLY doesn’t.
Lunch today is scheduled to be Inoue, and the weather is beautiful and horrible. We’ve got a giant thunderstorm series coming through. The rain and wind goes back from deadly intense to eerie calm. The scenery is beautiful, and, were I in a mood or state of mind to appreciate it, I’m sure that I would find it moving.
I’m filled with such blind, thrashing, impotent rage. I feel as though I’m bound with ropes, inside and out. That I’m held back. That I’m confined. I can’t break free of whatever these things are, and it’s insane. I feel impulsively compelled every time I walk across the Miyanojo Bridge to throw myself off. More than idle fancy. Sometimes I don’t walk very close to the edge for fear of getting carried away. I feel miserable and trapped. I’m trapped in a body that can’t sleep and won’t lose weight. I’m trapped in a mind that’s patterns seem set against accomplishing anything. I’m trapped in a town where I’m incapable of finding meaningful relationships. I’m trapped in a life that goes against everything I’d hoped for. It’s increasingly difficult to find any hope for the future. I’d made it a point of stopping myself from imagining various “What Ifs”, where I’d consider how I could have changed everything. I believe that I made this resolution around the time of Amanda’s engagement. It’s been increasingly difficult. All I can do is to see wonderful times in the past, but, unlike when I was young and did this, I realize that the past was terrible. Recently, I was even having fond memories of Amber, which struck me as patently idiotic. The same way that I sometimes find myself longing for China.
Turning 30 is horrifying. It’s a reminder of how little I’ve accomplished, how little time I have, and how the great joys of my life are likely behind me. I miss whoring around. Honestly, I do. Never again will I get a chance to be with girls in their prime. At least, not in any socially acceptable way. I realize that it’s horrible to say that, and it’s selfish and probably all kinds of other things, but it’s something that I enjoyed. Not just from the physical pleasure (which is tremendous) but also from the psychological lightness. When you’re in your late teens or early 20’s, you don’t have the baggage. You don’t have the history. You don’t have the associations. It’s nice to be dealt with on something closer to my own terms rather than being compared to a massive sample size. Having said that, though, as I found with Amber in 2014/2015, I’ve so little in common with people of that age that it’s lost most of its appeal. Of course, that also may be because I’m so fat that I’m pretty sure it’s inhibited testosterone production (hooray for never going bald, at least).
I’ve gained so much weight from being sick. It’s sickening how quickly I get fat. And how hard it is to alter anything. I pushed myself too hard, idiotically, and I’m paying for it now. It’s just very difficult to regain much faith that this is ever going to get any better.
I feel lost, helpless, and hopeless. I feel like a man, crushed under rocks, on a desert island, waiting to die, but desperately, desperately, clinging to a meaningless life because it is HIS, and for that reason alone it has some shred of meaning, meaning that he knows is nothing, but that he clings to.
For the first time in ages, last night, I felt something approaching a spiritual connection again. Those brief flashes are a major reason I’ve never been able to find comfort in the complete abandonment of religion like many of my friends. The feeling is something powerful. Being connected to something bigger. It was as though, upon waking up from that dream (and dreams of Amanda were always seemingly prophetic) some hideous mass inside of me had been bored out and there was this profound . . . emptiness. Something longing to be filled by something other than the obvious sops for a yearning fool. Something spiritual. There was an odd connection as well, and some strange power. I felt the fog around my eyes (my eyes always hurt these days as though there are hand squeezing all around my eyeballs) and the fog inside of my mind lighten. It was wonderful. But, it did not last.
I’m full of so much nervous, restless, energy. That’s why I want to do the half day. I feel the nervous anxiety of a dying man, needing, being compelled, to accomplish everything in his short time. The torpor is gone, for the moment, and I am driven DRIVEN, to do something. Cleaning is the only avenue that comes to mind, and the notion of cleaning fills me with the sweet desire of an addict just out of reach of his fix. I live in filth, a constant reminder of my failure and inability. My goodness, how sweet it would be to do something about it. To find the energy, to succumb to this mighty compulsion, and to accomplish something, some small thing, that validates me as a man and as a human. Where he cannot write, where he cannot act, where he cannot move, where he cannot progress, where he cannot love, where he cannot fuck, where he cannot do a damned thing, a man can clean, and in that action generate SOME meaning for an existence whose continuation is more terrifying than its cessation. Even now, I find some small comfort in the act of typing in here, which is another indication that perhaps the worst is over and this latest spell has bottomed out.
Yesterday there was a paper on my desk that shows how to get reimbursed for mental health treatment while in Japan. Perhaps, were I still feeling spiritual, I could view this as some kind of nudge? Who can say? Still, the terror of the label is enough to make me fear seeking its removal. And to seek help seems to be an acknowledgement of my own glaring insufficiency. What are your problems, Ozment? You had a bad dream. You shove too much food down your face. Nobody wants to see you naked. You can’t make up your mind.
How is this enough to make a human being so dysfunctional?
Pathetic.
I just turned on my Kindle. The title for book 3 in The Odyssey is “King Nestor Remembers”. It reminded me of that Enya song So-and-so remembers (Miss Grace, I think). They were playing Enya yesterday in Primo Passo. I remember loving her. Listening to her. Getting such strong and wonderful feelings. Where are those feelings now? Where is the shuddering at Lothlorien? The shuddering that made me immediately stop everything I was doing with Lee, and that made me skip the song for years. Where is the lightness, the power? Yet, to try to use it now as a totem to get things back just cheapens the experience. I miss feels, and, this misery is, in many ways, better than the dull dead nothing that’s so present, but we’ll see. I may change my mind. I have already, multiple times, this morning. All I can think about is wanting to go back to the old days. That’s impossible. The future looks bleak. What am I to do?