Dammit. I just deleted this post for the second time in as many days. It doesn't get much more annoying than that. Who knew that accidentally hitting the tab button could have such drastic consequences? Well, I had a nice little sappy poetic lead-in to the post penned down, but I feel like I'd be faking it if I tried to do it again, so let's dive right in, sans intro.
I wrote this on the plane yesterday.
What is there to think about when you're strapped into a plane seat for 9 plus hours? Plenty of stuf. Plenty of stuff I should be thinking about at least; 1 (+) years in a foreign country, not as foreign as some but foreign nonetheless, a job teaching children things, hey, having no friends except a computer, a notebook, a couple unexpected stalwarts from the past about to move across this country pretty soon anyway, and, uh, well a shit-load of made-up fools in books (I bought enough books to satisfy a ravenous Hermione Granger for at least six months). What else? Kissing my college and everybody I love goodbye for an indefinite amount of time, kissing, kissing, kissing, well I don't really want to be kissing much of anybody for a while, jumping off a ledge into a misty future with a potentially holey parachute crafted out of assurances and the vague promise of a cushy landing if you can brake through the bumpy landing. Why, hello Real-World, I was under the apparently false impression that you would be less crazy than the Whitman dream I've abruptly woken up from.
But then again, I could be crunching numbers at T. Rowe Price or pounding nails into house frames, or even better, still pounding the pavement looking for a grocery store to lend me a smock to hang up next to my diploma before I crawl into bed at night. So, yes, things could be worse. I could have boils. Or halitosis. Or an artificially implanted aversion to ice cream, night terrors, a lifetime contract with Jiffy Lube, two left feet, two left balls, a monkey surgically attached to my left shoulder, a third arm I can't control, a desire to read Joseph Conrad, and undying love for the musical stylings of Korn. I could be an unloved bastard child, I could be balding at a young age, I could have come of age in the 80's, I could have an outie for a belly-button. Shit, I do have an outie, but the fact remains that I could be bent over in a shower in the Walla Walla prison with a dick up my ass, so all things considered, life aint so bad. Life really aint so bad.
(Still on the plan stuff) I woke up this morning at 7:20, showered away the sweaty sheen of fear covering my body, made a final good-bye phone call, and loaded up, well, loaded myself into the car my father had loaded up for me, and got ready to treck it to the airport. It was a nice quiet ride, which I suppose makes for a nice boring post, but what followed next is more of a series hastily scanned photographs or a slideshow in fast forward than a continuous span of time: NW airlines baggage counter; tickets, passports popping in and out of boxes, bags, pockets; a fruit cup; lines, more lines - slow it down hugging my mom, my dad twice, Keelie three times, crying in an airport again, on an airplane again, fuck, my travel routes seem to be mighty tear-stained of late (there's a joke in there somewhere I'm just not willing to make); Burger King, and then
the big freeze. 9 + hours of it. My only question now, is what happens when we hit the ground and everything thaws out?
End plane entry. Thing is, transit is always more difficult when you're still in transition, so it seems really bad from what I just wrote. It got a lot better though. It got pretty hilarious actually. Unfortunately my computer is running out of battery so I will have to leave you with a sad taste in your mouth and the anticipation of happiness on the tip of your tongue. Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be some silly stuff to say, because Tokyo is a silly place.
I wrote this on the plane yesterday.
What is there to think about when you're strapped into a plane seat for 9 plus hours? Plenty of stuf. Plenty of stuff I should be thinking about at least; 1 (+) years in a foreign country, not as foreign as some but foreign nonetheless, a job teaching children things, hey, having no friends except a computer, a notebook, a couple unexpected stalwarts from the past about to move across this country pretty soon anyway, and, uh, well a shit-load of made-up fools in books (I bought enough books to satisfy a ravenous Hermione Granger for at least six months). What else? Kissing my college and everybody I love goodbye for an indefinite amount of time, kissing, kissing, kissing, well I don't really want to be kissing much of anybody for a while, jumping off a ledge into a misty future with a potentially holey parachute crafted out of assurances and the vague promise of a cushy landing if you can brake through the bumpy landing. Why, hello Real-World, I was under the apparently false impression that you would be less crazy than the Whitman dream I've abruptly woken up from.
But then again, I could be crunching numbers at T. Rowe Price or pounding nails into house frames, or even better, still pounding the pavement looking for a grocery store to lend me a smock to hang up next to my diploma before I crawl into bed at night. So, yes, things could be worse. I could have boils. Or halitosis. Or an artificially implanted aversion to ice cream, night terrors, a lifetime contract with Jiffy Lube, two left feet, two left balls, a monkey surgically attached to my left shoulder, a third arm I can't control, a desire to read Joseph Conrad, and undying love for the musical stylings of Korn. I could be an unloved bastard child, I could be balding at a young age, I could have come of age in the 80's, I could have an outie for a belly-button. Shit, I do have an outie, but the fact remains that I could be bent over in a shower in the Walla Walla prison with a dick up my ass, so all things considered, life aint so bad. Life really aint so bad.
(Still on the plan stuff) I woke up this morning at 7:20, showered away the sweaty sheen of fear covering my body, made a final good-bye phone call, and loaded up, well, loaded myself into the car my father had loaded up for me, and got ready to treck it to the airport. It was a nice quiet ride, which I suppose makes for a nice boring post, but what followed next is more of a series hastily scanned photographs or a slideshow in fast forward than a continuous span of time: NW airlines baggage counter; tickets, passports popping in and out of boxes, bags, pockets; a fruit cup; lines, more lines - slow it down hugging my mom, my dad twice, Keelie three times, crying in an airport again, on an airplane again, fuck, my travel routes seem to be mighty tear-stained of late (there's a joke in there somewhere I'm just not willing to make); Burger King, and then
the big freeze. 9 + hours of it. My only question now, is what happens when we hit the ground and everything thaws out?
End plane entry. Thing is, transit is always more difficult when you're still in transition, so it seems really bad from what I just wrote. It got a lot better though. It got pretty hilarious actually. Unfortunately my computer is running out of battery so I will have to leave you with a sad taste in your mouth and the anticipation of happiness on the tip of your tongue. Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be some silly stuff to say, because Tokyo is a silly place.
1 comment:
Sounds like all sorts of adventure on your journey to the land of the rising sun... and by adventure I mean intense sadness and boredom... I'm sure things will get much better.
P.S. I miss you...
Chris
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