May 25th to June 12th in 2017

Friday night, the cocktail party went very well. Leading up to it, Tomoko sent me messages informing me of the status of her search for alcohol. However, it was all pretty pointless as Inoue-san had already scored what I needed. However . . . I adore Tomoko. So I’m glad she looked for me. That woman is the best. So is Inoue. This town has too many good people.
I went to Kitchen Inoue for dinner, and it was good. Then, I gathered the ingredients. Sam called a taxi for us, and we rode it to Sugimoto, where I stocked up on a few carbonated things, and then headed out to Shirasaka Motors. Kazumi lives nearby. Chi-chan, whose real name escapes me (Shige-papa’s niece) came was walking there, and we all ran into each other. Tomoko was also right there, frantically looking for Kazumi’s house. It was adorable.
The party was fun! I had just imagined that I’d be mixing drinks. I hadn’t reckoned on it being Japan. Of course there was food, and it was amazing. We all had a really good time. The drinks were successful, and I was happy with them (more or less). I was the last to leave. Kazumi suggested that her husband take me to a snack nearby, but, I told them not to trouble themselves. Finally, I left. On the way home, rather worse for wear, I walked into the Don shop, and talked to Shi-chan, the owner, whom I hadn’t seen in ages. We’re friends on Facebook, but, there’s literally nothing healthy to eat or drink in her shop. So I haven’t been by in a while. At first we were alone, then another guy came in, then the place started to hop a bit. Which was odd as it was after midnight. Well, eventually I got to be “I-am-worried-about-crossing-that-bridge” drunk, and cut myself off. I think that she gave me a discount because it seems like it should have been more expensive than it was. But, I was pouring drinks for customers and getting everybody laughing and happy, so, maybe I got an employee discount.
I called Tris as I stumbled home, and told him that I may not be in any condition to play in the morning. He said that was fine because Lyft had offered him a ton of money to drive. Well, that worked out beautifully. We ended up having no game. I attempted The Feast of St. Swithens, but, in my state, I didn’t remember to take the Advil. Between that and being 31, I woke up to one of my worst ever hangovers.
I woke up and fell back to sleep repeatedly. I had many dreams, and wonderful dreams. Some were mundane, some were beautiful. The only dream that I can remember was looking at my phone and being told, by Tris, in the form of little sms images, that there was no game. As it turns out, he had messaged me a sentence to that effect, but thinking that the dream was real let me continue falling back to sleep. Having gotten in after 1, and having woken up (initially) at 6:45, I was very happy to believe it. I wish that I could remember the dreams, they were sweet. In between dreaming, my mind was racing. Sometimes, in between sleep and awake, especially if I’ve been drinking, my brain makes up for a previously slowed speed and goes into maximum overdrive. That was unpleasant, but it often leads to pleasant dreams.
When I finally got up, it was hard to drag myself to do anything. Hangover and all. I didn’t get to the pool as planned. In fact, I barely managed to get to lunch by 2:15. I chatted with Basil (I ate at Rara) for some time. I had hoped to game, swim, and then teach Basil cocktails at lunch, but, that didn’t happen. At 3, I left (though he wanted me to stay and talk) and went to Eric Muscleman’s. At Eric’s, we talked a lot more than I had expected. After the talking, he did show/give me a few exercises to do. He also cleared me for very basic weight work, focusing exclusively on my upper body. Then, it was off to my voice lesson.
I got there a bit late, and it went late. I worked on two Italian art songs (neither of which interests me, sadly) and we talked a LOT. I often wonder at Yuko’s English ability. Either that or mine. She doesn’t seem to understand a lot of what I talk about. Either that or she likes to listen, then ignore what I saw, and talk about something only tangentially related. Based on several people I’ve known, this is also entirely possible.
After the lesson, which I got to late and which ran late, I rushed to a party that Satomi invited me to. She’s the Japanese performer whom I met on Facebook due to various mutual friends. She’s one of those gaijin collectors with tons of interesting foreign friends. She was going to a Vietnam party at the university, and I went. Sadly, it ended early for the first time ever, and I got there late. I missed everything, except brief (futile) glances at the beautiful Vietnamese girls. My goodness they were beautiful. But . . . I suppose that at this point in time anything new and different is appealing. Far too frequently, what’s dull and the same is. I don’t know what to make of this. Anyway, I met Satomi there, and I bumped into another guy whom I knew, and I met a great Lebanese guy (Lebanese people are the best, but for the conflict, I think that I’d move there). We’re going to meet up for hookah and Lebanese food! He’s the greatest man in the world! After the party, we all stood around and talked in our weird polyglot way for ages. Finally, a few of us went to a little cafe where some more of Satomi and other friend (forget his name)’s friends showed up. The owner of the cafe was adorable. Well, it wasn’t a cafe. But it wasn’t a restaurant. And it wasn’t a bar. I have no idea how to describe it, but Yoko, the owner, was the best. (Fin May 30th )
(From June 12th)
It’s a fairly safe assumption, when I haven’t written in a long time, that I’m doing very well or very poorly. The first half of this absence of nearly a month, I was doing very well. My body was improving, I was socializing, and the world was looking up.
Then, all of a sudden, I was binge eating, buying food that I couldn’t afford, and couldn’t eat, just to have it; it was a compulsion. My sleep went down hill, I injured myself, my mental focus died, I took up smoking (a mere two packs) and found myself in a dark, lonely, painful, solitary place. The events sort of blend together. I pushed myself too hard and I paid for it. I had an insanely busy time of just doing so much until the 3rd, where I had the hotaru boat with Matsumoto-san (buy from the above story, not the old English teacher).
Somehow or other, Courtney pulled me out of it. Not by anything that she particularly said or did. Just, by being Courtney. Somehow or other, she was exactly what I needed exactly as I needed it.
I don’t know how much detail I ought to go into here, but she’s making some amazing, wonderful, beautiful changes in her life. Changes that are wonderful and inspiring and magical. Changes that I’m seeking to emulate. Changes that maybe, just maybe, I can, and changes that may be highly necessary. I may require a bit of help from a few good friends to find some useful components, but, I’m quite hopeful for things.
To that end, I’m working on a few practical things.
Today, I cleaned out my refrigerator. This may not sound very impressive, but it was unusable from me leaving food to rot in there. A quarter of a watermelon. From last summer, evidently, when they were in season. Now, I can make tea, and I don’t have to buy so many bottles of garbage. More than that, though, it felt good to finally do something that I’d been putting off for so long. Either last week, or the week before, it was an entire car full of bottles. Depending on which week this is, I may get rid of the other big, but fixable, project: getting rid of a year of cardboard. Let the record state, I hate Japanese garbage rules.
I still need to find mental help. I know that. I plan on getting on that this week. The difficulty is trying to keep all of my good times momentum going and building, step by step, towards a better life, only to then spend days on the phone trying to find an English speaking shrink. I dread it, and I’m putting it off. I’ll get on that, though. However, in the meantime, Jordan Peterson, my new hero, has a write-yourself-sane style program. I’m signing up for that, probably this weekend. Maybe Friday. This week, I have three elementary school days, one middle school day, but Friday is the Board of Education. So, I could get a lot of writing done there.
I’ve decided, with Courtney’s help, that in addition to my body, I really do need to start putting tons more effort into my Japanese. I need people and ideas and beauty to inspire me, and, frankly, I’m not going to get that without the ability to speak and share.
Sorry that this sounds like a grocery list. There are all of these beautiful thoughts in me, but they’re not quite coming out properly. Still, it’s good to be getting anything resembling them out at all. It’s like my water walking: It’s hideous and gross and painful and frustrating, and I should be doing better. But, I’m broken and I’ve got to re learn to do the things that everybody else gets to do naturally.
It looks like I’ll be stranded in Japan this summer. The airfare back to the US is insanely expensive. The cheapest ticket that I found was $1,100, and that wasn’t counting the connector flight I’d have to buy on my own. It’s disappointing because I’d really like the chance to heal up in the US for a while, but, that’s just not financially possible at the moment. Stupid money. However, that will give me the chance to low carb. I’m going to ask the school if I can be excused from my final lunch of 1st semester at Miyachu. That’s Monday July 17th. If I’m allowed to do that, I can low carb for a bit over six weeks until the start of the new semester. From the 15th until the . . . 1st? I think?
Anyway, ignore the hypocrisy of this statement, but, I’m trying to cut down on my computer/phone time. Drastically. I’ll probably use them at school, because that’s something that I can do when people at home are awake. However, when I’m home, I’ve got to do less of them. A lot less. I realize that I’m losing a lot of my appreciation of beauty and my ability to think and focus. It’s hard to have an inner life when you’re flipping a half dozen tabs open and closed at all times. My computer is a tool, but it shouldn’t be my only means of experiencing life and existence.

I remember, once, Courtney told me that she admired how I listened to music. How I really listened to it. I had always admired my brother for the same reason and found my own appreciation to be a pale comparison. I’m trying to rediscover even what love I had. The only time I remember a real, passionate, attachment to music was first semester at OU. I obsessed over Brahms and Debussy, but mostly Brahms. I have, sitting next to me, an incredibly expensive CD collection of his symphonies. I’m yet to listen to it. I’m not ready yet. It has to be something that I want, something that I yearn for. It’s got to be something big and something right. I don’t want to waste it. But you can’t appreciate music, real music like that, music with depth, if you’re not prepared to give it what it needs. I’m not ready yet. I’m starting to think that I may be.
By that same token, I’m feeling like maybe, just maybe, I may reach the state of being where I could watch Gundam Wing again. Interestingly enough, I’ve been reconnecting with the other Courtney, Ann’s friend from Michigan. She’s been rewatching it lately.
I’ve been listening to The Rachel’s: Music for Egon Schiele over and over. I bought it on CD. I don’t know if I can tell the difference between CD audio on my stereo and the YouTube playing over my Lenovo speakers (or even when it’s plugged in) but it feels that I can. I’ve got track six on repeat. Wally, Egon & Models in Studio. Somehow or other, it feels right. I can’t explain it, but it feels right.
I’m trying to spend time in my chair, the big chair that I bought months ago and have barely used. I’m trying to spend time alone, without screens, without distractions. Now, I’m here, and I’m writing, and the music is pulling me, guiding me, making me do things and feel things and experience things. Not by force. But by its gentleness. I feel a kind of presence, a kind of goodness. It’s very hard to explain. Of course, the name of the band isn’t lost on me. But, still. There is something really wonderful in all of this.
I feel like there are a lot of things that I need to do and that I need to be. But I’m not ready yet, and I’m not there yet. But, somehow, they’re calling to me again. They’re out there, just beyond the horizon. Their words are carried to me on the wind, distorted, and from an unfathomable distance and direction. But there they are. Voices. Somewhere. And if only, if only, I can keep walking, maybe I’ll find them. I’m lost, it’s true, and maybe I’ll die here in this dark wood. Night comes for everyone, and who can say what happens when it passes over us? But still, somehow, I hear them calling, and I’m calling, and I’m limping, but somewhere in my heart, I’m RUNNING, I’m running with that feeling I used to get when I used to run all those years ago. Collapsing on the ground outside of my house, panting ecstatically, greedily devouring air, with a heart filled to bursting and beating as though it meant to try.
I wonder at myself, and I wonder so much at what Courtney and I have talked about. I think that it’s true what I’ve been saying: I’m not a person. I’m a reflection. I disappear when no one is looking. I didn’t used to be this way. I used to be alone, and lonely, trapped in a little world. The internet was my first real escape. I grasped out for, and latched on to, the two of you. And for others. But you two stayed. Do you know what my life was like before you? How alone I was before you were in my life? I’ll never, if I live to be a thousand, be able to thank the two of you enough for seeing me through those dark times. As for the others? Who is Ann? Some strange woman who looks like a friend of ours. Long since vanished. The ever elusive Lane whom I called Ashiko. Even the website that held her work is dead.
But that world is dead too, isn’t it? And we’ve grown old. If I could become Treize, I wonder what it would mean in a world where no one remembers Zechs or Lady Une. It makes me sad to think that the temples containing these idols are closed, fallen to ruin, or re-purposed for the new gods.
Perhaps I’d best make a new entry. This doesn’t quite fit the general chronological theme.