November 30th through December 1st in 2015

Yesterday I went home sick. Due to a scheduling error, I had no classes, and I felt terrible. I came into the office, corrected a stack of notebooks, and asked if I could be allowed to go to the doctor. It was agreed that I could. I figured I may as well. It may count as a personal day (even with a doctor’s note), but so be it. I just couldn’t deal with a day at my desk yesterday.
I’m being treated for intestinal trouble, again. The Kagoshima mess got me all out of balance. I always forget how delicate I am, which is an infuriating thing for an obese nearly 30 year old man to admit. In addition, I’m likely allergic to some unknown substance, and I’m on some stuff for my headaches. Truth be told, I do feel a lot better today, but I wonder how much of it was just yesterday’s nap.
English Corner, sorry, Eikaiwa. I still call it English Corner in my head sometimes, went well enough. Only three ladies showed up. I’m worried, but I know a lot of people are busy. We had a pretty okay talk, though. I was invited to one student’s teacher’s house, which is an ancient traditional building in town. Sadly, it’s this weekend, and this weekend is the Samurai Kimono festival. Cannot miss that. I was glad I found out, because I had to tell Klever that this weekend we can’t meet up and perform. I need to cancel my guitar lesson, now that I think about it. Probably. I’m also annoyed because it means I’ll miss another Kimono class. Oh well. I’ll be going to a different one instead.
After Eikaiwa, I went did some shopping. I bought myself some things that I needed and or wanted. I got two identical balloon animal kits just to add to the list of my useless skills. I picked them up at Nafco, hoping to find a decent chair (which I knew wouldn’t be there). I also got some canned air and a screen brush for my laptop. Has improved it greatly. Then, off to Plasse. I bought myself a full super fuzzy double sided velour indoor outfit, and a hanten, which is a kind of Japanese winter coat. It’s green. I love it. I also got a nice new blanket. It was an expensive trip. Oh, also, yogurt, some tiny mikan (I think they’re technically cumquats), and then off to 7-11 for protein bars. I’m replacing my morning cereal with protein bars. Cutting down on the calories and raising the protein, something that I’m oddly lacking for, arguably, the first time in my life.
Then off for another meal I didn’t need. Then I had to hurry home. I’d planned on practicing some guitar, and then going to bed, but Penny skyped me with an emergency: Woody discovered that he had a college application due earlier than he’d realized, and I needed to fix what he’d done and then ghost write the rest. That was . . . super fun. Frustrated by that, but I love Penny dearly. She’s like an aunt that I could actually like. So, I did it. Meant I didn’t get to sleep when I wanted to, but so be it. I’m also short on exercise time, and am eating too much. Well, fuck me, then.
Today I got up at five to seven (my new wakeup time, I’ll worry about getting up earlier once my bedtime stabilizes) and went in to work. The teachers had forgotten to schedule me to do anything today. So, yesterday the BOE forgot to schedule me to go anywhere and today Miyanojo forgot to schedule me to do anything. So, all day, the only work I’ve done is to grade one class’ notebooks.
I’ve talked to Tris and Scott, and it sounds like maybe, MAYBE, after over six months of trying we may start our Pathfinder campaign. I’m still waiting for something to go wrong (it will). Beyond that, I mostly just walked around the school. Literally. 101 flights of stairs and 8.2 km of walking today. 11,401 steps. Yeah. That’s what I did.
It felt good, though. It feels good when I exercise. It’s one of the only things that feels good. I liked wearing myself out on the stairs. But, I know that I’ll be sore tomorrow. I hate this body. The only thing that I can seemingly do to it anymore that feels good just makes everything worse after. Along those lines, the half-life of my sleeping medication is such that my ability to drink is awful, even when not actively taking it that day (or so I’m starting to believe). At any rate, it’s hard to exercise when it’s in the 40’s (F) and rainy and windy. I wish there were a gym in town, but the nearest one is expensive and far. Maybe I should just clean my apartment. Well, really, I should do that for a lot of reasons.
Why is it that when I get depressed, and I know that physical activity is the only thing that cheers me, I refuse to move? Part of it, of course, is that it’s never as simple as that. I get sick. So I can’t exercise. So I get depressed. So I don’t want to. I wish I weren’t constantly sick. I feel guilty every time I go into the doctor’s office. I wonder all the time if I’m a hypochondriac. I don’t think I am. Mom always told me I was, but, then, her refusing to let me see a doctor is why my ankle never healed because I was just imagining it. My leg problems could probably have been solved in childhood if she’d just listened. Still, it’s always there in my mind, every time I feel sick. I hear her telling me that I’m unreasonable. That I’m weak. That I’m faking. That I’m just awful. Having to see the doctor leaves me on the verge of tears, and I’m always nervous and defensive, because everything I describe is agony. My mother used to sit in the doctor’s office with me and contradict me as I explained my symptoms to the doctor, and I’d get in trouble for what I said or what I left out. I’d also get coached beforehand to make sure everything I said was right. It was horrifying, and we nearly got in fights a few times as I insisted that I knew my symptoms better than she did, and she insisted that I was wrong. I was happy that the doctor wasn’t Kyoko, because every time I get sick, I feel like she’s judging me. I don’t think she is. I’m 99% sure it’s paranoia, but it’s there. And I hate it. And I get so mad at mom for making me like that.
I’m not scared of the doctors. I’m not scared of the needles or the pain or the embarrassment. I’m scared of seeming weak to them, mentally or physically. I’m ashamed to feel ill. But, other times, I’ll fall back on that constant pain as a way to get out of things that I need to get out of. My relationship with my near constant pain and fatigue has always been mixed. I hate it. I’m ashamed of it. But still, I use it sometimes when I need it. And I hate myself for it. I wonder what it would be like to have a single day pain free and not feeling exhausted. It’s been sixteen years since I’ve had one. And people wonder why I’m so morbid.
I’m lonely and frustrated and confused and hurt and just utterly on my own out here. And I’m caving under the pressure of my own inadequacy. But I’m here. And I’ve either got to endure this, fix this, or finally kill myself. Now, I’m not sure if I actually have the capacity to turn myself into anything I wouldn’t be ashamed of or disappointed in. I don’t think I can endure a life of holding myself in this much contempt. But suicide just shouldn’t be an option. Still, honestly, it’s the one that seems most appealing most of the time. I often get random urges, especially while driving at night, to veer into other cars. A few nights ago, while driving home, I caught myself just before I unconsciously did it. It’s hard to explain. I hadn’t moved my hands yet, but the command was going there from my brain before suddenly I snapped to attention and didn’t pull into that oncoming car’s headlights. It’s a bit frightening. I’d often thought of doing something like that, but it was always conscious thought. This time . . . it was just a natural impulse that had to be consciously checked. Not a good sign for me, I suppose.
I was miserable before because I was bored. Now I’m too busy. Maybe it’s just that I’ve got the wrong priorities? Who can say? Maybe it’s just that I’ve been exhausted every day for sixteen years, and I’m getting really fed up with living like that. I’m so angry and so frustrated and so hurt and alone and feel so worthless. I’m so desperate for companionship. I want a person who I can care about, and who cares about me, so pathetically that I fully realize that anybody who NEEDS someone like that doesn’t deserve ANYBODY. I want to just burry my face in somebody’s chest, and sleep, and wake up on a sunny morning with a cat opening the door, and to not be tired. I want to trust someone and not be terrified that I’m not enough. I want to find my old confidence, but lose the arrogance. Arrogance. It’s my refuge. I revel in it when I can no longer stand to face the reality of who and what I am. I’ve even got a lot of my students calling me “Ozu Daitoryou”, or, “President Oz”. It helps. Playing a part helps. Being that person, the teacher who calls himself that, helps. Having students helps. Having Eikaiwa helps. Having an audience helps.
One person saw me, for more than a few moments, naked and afraid. One person, ever, got to be with me for any length of time when I wasn’t being something or someone else. That rejection took me seven years to overcome.
Seven.
Years.
Nothing since then has even come close.
On an incidental note, I had a random dream last night, just before I woke up, where Penny uttered something in Japanese. “Watari hou”. That’s amazing is that I wasn’t familiar with that. Apparently, it would be what you said when you saw a ferry boat. I wonder, superstitious as I am about dreams, if it stands for anything. Probably not. Another dream about being happily with Arielle, and no news there.
On the other hand, you know, I wonder about the whole Arielle dreams.
She was stupid, she was. But she was loyal to me. And obsessed with me. And wanted to do things for me. I was happy with her, in a weird way. I loved how she’d melt when I gave her presents. I liked how I could hypnotize her without even trying (literally and figuratively). Haven’t I said lately that I want someone pretty, genki, and dumb? That’s Arielle all over. And, really, my time with her was a dark point in my life that she lightened quite a bit. She was a dumb, high end, blow up doll; but she did have some real feelings. There was a real girl inside of that mess. But I wasn’t the guy to bring it out.
Sometimes, I wonder, though, if I am that guy. If maybe I could be that guy. Can I be a good guy? Can I be the kind of guy who is just . . . good? I don’t know. I used to be good at being a bad guy. Now? I just can’t bring myself to care about anything enough to embrace much of anything. I used to embrace a new cause or belief a week with wholehearted zeal. Now, I half ass even the things that make me happy. What the fuck, Oz?
Anyway, this is a long and rambling mess. I’m a short and rambling mess. I’ve got mass tea ceremony class tonight, and I don’t want to go, but, of course, I will. Then bedtime. I’m just tired of all of this. I don’t want to be here, but there’s nowhere else to be. I should have joined the army in ’10. That’s now my official regret.
Man wouldn’t it be nice to be sleeping six feet under with medals across my chest? Forever a young hero and not a failed ham beast in an ill-fitting sports coat he bought to cover his fat and feel better about himself? I can’t even wear the vest that went with it anymore.
I want someone to come along and save me from myself. But I know they won’t come. I want some divine intervention to somehow make all of this okay. I’m rapidly losing what little faith remained in that quarter. It’s pretty bad when one of the things that keeps you going is the likelihood of a car accident. Still, even then, I’m sure I’d survive, in worse condition, charge up more bills, and be worse than before.
Should have joined the army.
Should have died a hero.
Tired of this life.