NMESI, or the National Museum of Emerging Science and Innovation (Miraikan) in Odaiba, is an interesting place to hang out.
On a chilly and windy Thursday afternoon, I made my transfer at Futako Tamagawa to the Oimachi line. All the way to Oimachi, an old lady commented to her older husband (70?) about how torn up my pants are. Of course it's obvious how gaijin I am because I am the only one who feels completely overheated by the obsessive amount of warmth coming from these trains on a slightly chilly fall day. Sorry, but I am from Oregon and probably right now it is freezing rain your ass off...
I make it to Oimachi and go down what like 4 long deescalators (deescalate?) So deep underground that it felt kind of eerie. 4 More stops to Tokyo Teleport, the central station of the Odaiba area island. I get off the train, fully conscious that everyone thinks that I am crazy wearing a tee-shirt. I honestly feel great and the wind is amazing. It's a great day to explore a new place. So I start walking around. Meeting a friend at the next line over, I start walking for that station. Then a text.. she plans to go to another station. Whatever!! I look at the map, which doesn't include that station, so I just go down the stairs and start walking, but I am a little turned around. Luckily there is a Koban right at the bottom of the stairs. I ask the police officers, whose job seems to be giving directions most of the time. I guess it's on the far end of the island. I start walking.
Wow, what a long walk! Maybe I should have hopped on the train!! Whatever.. I feel amazing. I am high on life. I head to the designated rally point and eventually Em and I meet up at the station. Onward to the museum, a mere 500 yen for what might be a good match for OMSI (the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry).
We arrive at the Museum, and there are 50 school kids putzing about outside. To be expected from a Museum right? We go inside, and WABAAMMMMMMM! FREE DAY!!! BOOYAA! For me, an already good day off just got better (sorry but I worked 6 days last week and probably 15 in the last 2 weeks). So free admission and we go inside to check things out.. and of course it's even more cool in some undescribable way than OMSI. It's more modern, newer, warmer, it feels more well designed and less cold and less like a factory.
So after exploring the Museum, we head over to Lotteria, where I sufficiently oversalt the fries and make a spectacle of the whole thing (my final conclusion is that lotteria is just not that great of a place to eat). Yes E.T., the nuggets did taste like crap. Then a walk to the station and back to lotteria to pick up a left behind bag (oops!!).
Off to the Izakaya in Gotanda for more 50 yen beers and endless ranting about work. Woo! Life is too short not to do what you want, right?
I will come back to NMESI to experience the awesome optical trip of the LED pictures and the sound trick stage (CRAZY PRIMATES!!).
Overall, what a great day. Let's hope my Monday (which lands on a Friday) happens to be even a fraction as awesome as today, and I will be a lucky guy.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Walk, Run, Bike, Limp
It was around 00:30, the end of a brief night of drinking. I was standing on that last train from Shibuya, looking up gravely at the sign that is telling me that I will be finding my own way home from Saginuma. I have said before so many times that I welcome the challenge, so it is only poetic that it shall happen unexpectedly.
I get off the train and head outside with the others, most of whom I doubt are as far from home as I am. Most of the people head over to one of two bus stops and a taxi stand. I look at the two bus stops and decipher that both are going the better part of my journey. So I stand in the line of the bus which is going a couple of towns closer, to Aobadai. I watch as the bus fills, and still a full busload of people ahead of me, my hopes diminish quickly as the bus pulls away. Most of the people head over to the taxi stand at this point. I refuse to, having once paid nearly 10,000 yen for a taxi. That's a hundred dollars I could use elsewhere.
So I do what any guy in a drunken stupor would do. I checked my bearings, and started walking for home. I had no idea what distance it was, but I was sure it was going to be a get-there-in-the-morning type of walk. Only 30 minutes or so has past since my landing in Saginuma, and I've already made measureable progress, between speedwalking and half-jogging. I am walking up and down the hills in Tama-Plaza when a young guy jogs past me. I'm still feeling a little tipsy and gregarious, so I decide after a short deliberation to break into a jog after him. I soon catch up to him, listening to his ipod, and politely say hello and request his company until our jogging paths diverge. He obliges, and saves me much trouble by speaking in my native tongue. His english is pretty good and in the conversation I glean that he learned it travelling through southeast Asia, having never visited an "english as a first language" country. At the end of our journey together, I ask him if he enjoys the occasional drink (as he has already asked me if I had been drinking). I take down his number into my phone, and after asking him for directions to the next town over, I head in that direction.
I didn't get far before my stores of energy exploded into a jog. Having worked that day, I still had my clothes in my backpack, so I stopped after breaking into a sweat. Seeing nowhere else to change, I stood on the sidewalk and waited for the only person in sight to walk by. Much to the enjoyment of the people passing by on the busy highway in the comfort of their automobiles, I then proceeded to strip down to my boxers and socks, and change out of my jeans and polo into my trusty tee and athletic pants. Off I went, and went and went. I must have ran a couple of kilometers before stopping for a break, then going right back into a jog and a run again. Arriving in the next town, I am feeling confident. I know the largest portion of the journey still remains as I am now only in Azamino, several train stops away. I walk up to a couple of high-school-ish looking kids hanging out in the street, a guy and girl. In all reality they are probably out of high school, but we all know how young Japanese people look. I ask for directions towards home, and the guy looks as if I just asked him to solve a calculus problem. He either doesn't know what town I am referring to, which is unlikely, or he is genuinely shocked that I am asking him for directions to somewhere that he would never voluntarily walk to. His directions prove to be unhelpful, and I try to ask a man who has just finished a conversation with a coworker after their shift. He ignores me despite several attempts to get his attention. Okay jerk, thanks for nothing. I walk into the convenience store and the owner is perplexed, sending me across the street to the other convenience store (yeah they are really convenient here in Japan). The guys there have a good laugh and tell me that there are taxis nearby. This is proving to be harder than I thought.
I finally come across some construction workers who point me to their elder, a 70 something man who tells me that the town I am looking for is a stop on this train line. Little good that does me at 3 am. Not wanting to wait 2 and a half hours for the train to come, I just keep walking. At this point my confidence is becoming exhausted, despite my physical energy. The hills look endless and I am wondering why I never noticed them on the train every day. As soon as I reach the top, there are only several more hills to follow. Just as I am thinking about how many hours this could take, something happens which lifts my spirits.
I look to my left and there it is. A poor lonely pre-teen boy's bike, beaten and neglected and left like yesterday's newspaper on the side of the road. It is bent, rusted, and pathetic looking, but it has no lock, and I am only borrowing it! Sorry kid. I pump those little pedals like no other, and conquer the hills with gusto. At the top of every hill, each of which is harder than the last to climb, I rejoice at the coasting I get to do until I reach the next incline. I stop at a convenience store near the top of a hill, and the guy inside does me little good. I pedal on and find yet another convenience store (honestly what would I do without these things?). I walk inside and ask for directions and the guy does something amazing. He pulls out a MAP. I gesture to myself, as if I just hit a 3 pointer. He shows me the map, and of course my joy is defused when I see that my bedroom is still not even close to being on his map, which gets me only just past Tana. So off I go, thanking the guy for actually showing me the kindness and consideration to actually pull out his map (I am sure all of these other convenience store guys had maps too, but never bothered caring enough to pull it out).
After pedaling my way in the direction of home for some time, I finally converge on a familiar spot. I recognize where I am! The rice paddies, the two rivers meeting, I am just past Nagatsuda!! I pedal a short distance down the river (having walked out this far from home before). After confirming that I am indeed where I think I am, I set the bike aside. I hope that someone else makes the same use of it as I did, although it really is falling apart. As I get off of the two wheeler, I feel the abuse that I have inflicted upon myself. My left hamstring and my right achilles are completely sore, and the several kilometer walk back home turned into more of a hobble, but I am happy despite the distance. I got in at 4:18 am, well before the time that one of my unhelpful citizens told me "Naruse, Machida? HA-HA-HA, GOOD MORNING! HA-HA-HA." Eat it buddy, the sun didn't come up for at least an hour!
I get off the train and head outside with the others, most of whom I doubt are as far from home as I am. Most of the people head over to one of two bus stops and a taxi stand. I look at the two bus stops and decipher that both are going the better part of my journey. So I stand in the line of the bus which is going a couple of towns closer, to Aobadai. I watch as the bus fills, and still a full busload of people ahead of me, my hopes diminish quickly as the bus pulls away. Most of the people head over to the taxi stand at this point. I refuse to, having once paid nearly 10,000 yen for a taxi. That's a hundred dollars I could use elsewhere.
So I do what any guy in a drunken stupor would do. I checked my bearings, and started walking for home. I had no idea what distance it was, but I was sure it was going to be a get-there-in-the-morning type of walk. Only 30 minutes or so has past since my landing in Saginuma, and I've already made measureable progress, between speedwalking and half-jogging. I am walking up and down the hills in Tama-Plaza when a young guy jogs past me. I'm still feeling a little tipsy and gregarious, so I decide after a short deliberation to break into a jog after him. I soon catch up to him, listening to his ipod, and politely say hello and request his company until our jogging paths diverge. He obliges, and saves me much trouble by speaking in my native tongue. His english is pretty good and in the conversation I glean that he learned it travelling through southeast Asia, having never visited an "english as a first language" country. At the end of our journey together, I ask him if he enjoys the occasional drink (as he has already asked me if I had been drinking). I take down his number into my phone, and after asking him for directions to the next town over, I head in that direction.
I didn't get far before my stores of energy exploded into a jog. Having worked that day, I still had my clothes in my backpack, so I stopped after breaking into a sweat. Seeing nowhere else to change, I stood on the sidewalk and waited for the only person in sight to walk by. Much to the enjoyment of the people passing by on the busy highway in the comfort of their automobiles, I then proceeded to strip down to my boxers and socks, and change out of my jeans and polo into my trusty tee and athletic pants. Off I went, and went and went. I must have ran a couple of kilometers before stopping for a break, then going right back into a jog and a run again. Arriving in the next town, I am feeling confident. I know the largest portion of the journey still remains as I am now only in Azamino, several train stops away. I walk up to a couple of high-school-ish looking kids hanging out in the street, a guy and girl. In all reality they are probably out of high school, but we all know how young Japanese people look. I ask for directions towards home, and the guy looks as if I just asked him to solve a calculus problem. He either doesn't know what town I am referring to, which is unlikely, or he is genuinely shocked that I am asking him for directions to somewhere that he would never voluntarily walk to. His directions prove to be unhelpful, and I try to ask a man who has just finished a conversation with a coworker after their shift. He ignores me despite several attempts to get his attention. Okay jerk, thanks for nothing. I walk into the convenience store and the owner is perplexed, sending me across the street to the other convenience store (yeah they are really convenient here in Japan). The guys there have a good laugh and tell me that there are taxis nearby. This is proving to be harder than I thought.
I finally come across some construction workers who point me to their elder, a 70 something man who tells me that the town I am looking for is a stop on this train line. Little good that does me at 3 am. Not wanting to wait 2 and a half hours for the train to come, I just keep walking. At this point my confidence is becoming exhausted, despite my physical energy. The hills look endless and I am wondering why I never noticed them on the train every day. As soon as I reach the top, there are only several more hills to follow. Just as I am thinking about how many hours this could take, something happens which lifts my spirits.
I look to my left and there it is. A poor lonely pre-teen boy's bike, beaten and neglected and left like yesterday's newspaper on the side of the road. It is bent, rusted, and pathetic looking, but it has no lock, and I am only borrowing it! Sorry kid. I pump those little pedals like no other, and conquer the hills with gusto. At the top of every hill, each of which is harder than the last to climb, I rejoice at the coasting I get to do until I reach the next incline. I stop at a convenience store near the top of a hill, and the guy inside does me little good. I pedal on and find yet another convenience store (honestly what would I do without these things?). I walk inside and ask for directions and the guy does something amazing. He pulls out a MAP. I gesture to myself, as if I just hit a 3 pointer. He shows me the map, and of course my joy is defused when I see that my bedroom is still not even close to being on his map, which gets me only just past Tana. So off I go, thanking the guy for actually showing me the kindness and consideration to actually pull out his map (I am sure all of these other convenience store guys had maps too, but never bothered caring enough to pull it out).
After pedaling my way in the direction of home for some time, I finally converge on a familiar spot. I recognize where I am! The rice paddies, the two rivers meeting, I am just past Nagatsuda!! I pedal a short distance down the river (having walked out this far from home before). After confirming that I am indeed where I think I am, I set the bike aside. I hope that someone else makes the same use of it as I did, although it really is falling apart. As I get off of the two wheeler, I feel the abuse that I have inflicted upon myself. My left hamstring and my right achilles are completely sore, and the several kilometer walk back home turned into more of a hobble, but I am happy despite the distance. I got in at 4:18 am, well before the time that one of my unhelpful citizens told me "Naruse, Machida? HA-HA-HA, GOOD MORNING! HA-HA-HA." Eat it buddy, the sun didn't come up for at least an hour!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Zombies?
Really? Zombies?
So I am at my old high school, Corvallis High School (or the dreamy variation). Unfortunately, it's torn down now, but that was irrelevant in this dream. So yeah, that's when the Zombies attack. Now just because I was at high school, does not mean that I was high school age again. In fact, I believe I was a high school gym teacher, which isn't too far off from real life. I remember thinking: "Great, here I am stuck at high school with a bunch of broody and/or nerdy kids and a zombie invasion." So anyways, me and the 5 or so stars of my zombie high school movie run through the school and another teacher and I are locking the doors behind us. Once we are in the gym, I instruct everyone to go about finding good head lopping weapons. Mine is some sort of big freaking sickle sword thing like you might have seen in Braveheart. Okay, why again do I have ancient war weapons in my gymnasium?
So we are fighting off the zombies and doing okay, although the sinking feeling is always there that yes, they will eventually get through these locked doors and eat our brains. I see the finally working their way through and I head over to the door to greet the first one. I hold on tight to the door, like you would do when your sibling is trying to get into the room or the house and you are on the other side trying desperately to keep up the mean prank. Just then I decide to address the poor zombie kid. "Hey dude, can you stop trying to get in here?" I ask him politely. "But I really want to come in." He replied. "Okay, but I am going to have to break your neck or something so that you won't eat me." I suggest as if it's not an affront to his life. "Alright man", he says, and I let him in. I instruct him to sit down on the chair I was using to try to help me block the door, and he obliges. I start to break his neck, but it's not doing the trick. "Why aren't you dying?" I ask him. "I don't know man, but could you get right there?" Suddenly I have become his personal chiropractor or something. "Seriously dude? Okay, but stop trying to bite my hand, or you're going to turn me into a zombie too." So I finally snap his head all the way around 180 degrees and he thanks me, although it doesn't make him any less a walking talking zombie. I give up on it, and instruct him to go on back through the door.
Containment. It's days or weeks later now, I can't really tell because in the dream it was pretty seamless. We are sitting in the office now (a pretty big office for a high school now that I think about it), but yeah we are sitting in the office and someone has kindly hung up photos of all of the people lost to the zombie infestation. I am looking at the photos, one in particular, a balding man that I remember being with me in the gym before he was lost trying to hold the zombies off. I am thinking about how terrible it is to have lost a friend, when he walks off of the elevator and into the room, as if nothing had happened. I had only enough time to mentally react, thinking what the hell? When I woke up.
So I am at my old high school, Corvallis High School (or the dreamy variation). Unfortunately, it's torn down now, but that was irrelevant in this dream. So yeah, that's when the Zombies attack. Now just because I was at high school, does not mean that I was high school age again. In fact, I believe I was a high school gym teacher, which isn't too far off from real life. I remember thinking: "Great, here I am stuck at high school with a bunch of broody and/or nerdy kids and a zombie invasion." So anyways, me and the 5 or so stars of my zombie high school movie run through the school and another teacher and I are locking the doors behind us. Once we are in the gym, I instruct everyone to go about finding good head lopping weapons. Mine is some sort of big freaking sickle sword thing like you might have seen in Braveheart. Okay, why again do I have ancient war weapons in my gymnasium?
So we are fighting off the zombies and doing okay, although the sinking feeling is always there that yes, they will eventually get through these locked doors and eat our brains. I see the finally working their way through and I head over to the door to greet the first one. I hold on tight to the door, like you would do when your sibling is trying to get into the room or the house and you are on the other side trying desperately to keep up the mean prank. Just then I decide to address the poor zombie kid. "Hey dude, can you stop trying to get in here?" I ask him politely. "But I really want to come in." He replied. "Okay, but I am going to have to break your neck or something so that you won't eat me." I suggest as if it's not an affront to his life. "Alright man", he says, and I let him in. I instruct him to sit down on the chair I was using to try to help me block the door, and he obliges. I start to break his neck, but it's not doing the trick. "Why aren't you dying?" I ask him. "I don't know man, but could you get right there?" Suddenly I have become his personal chiropractor or something. "Seriously dude? Okay, but stop trying to bite my hand, or you're going to turn me into a zombie too." So I finally snap his head all the way around 180 degrees and he thanks me, although it doesn't make him any less a walking talking zombie. I give up on it, and instruct him to go on back through the door.
Containment. It's days or weeks later now, I can't really tell because in the dream it was pretty seamless. We are sitting in the office now (a pretty big office for a high school now that I think about it), but yeah we are sitting in the office and someone has kindly hung up photos of all of the people lost to the zombie infestation. I am looking at the photos, one in particular, a balding man that I remember being with me in the gym before he was lost trying to hold the zombies off. I am thinking about how terrible it is to have lost a friend, when he walks off of the elevator and into the room, as if nothing had happened. I had only enough time to mentally react, thinking what the hell? When I woke up.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Antagonist
I came to the realization that yesterday I was being kind of a jerk to my friends. Now I do normally act a little cocky and that's just an unfortunate part of my personality. I noticed though a couple of annoying retorts I spat out yesterday, just thinking of the most negative things that came to my mind instantly, regardless of whether they may have been tactless or just mean.
Some things were small and nitty, such as when a friend says "I like how they integrated the buttons into the touchpad" referring to the new MBP (macbookpro for the uninitiated). Now Instead of lauding what is actually a nice feature and that I kind of like, I thought of the first negative thing that came to my mind: "I dunno, it's kind of gimmicky." probably because of a bias against Apple computer that was ingrained in me from a very young age. It's a sad thing since despite their pitfalls, Apple has always been consistently ahead in a lot of places that count, namely visual, tactile, and overall user interface. Okay, so I could create a completely new blog post about this, so let's get back to me being a negative nancy.
The above example was only one of the small, nitty things that I was a downer about. The worse things are more shameful, like just being a jerk beyond any comedic point, and disagreeing with everything for the sake of it.
Conditioning? I think I have maybe made myself used to a climate of fighting and bickering in the past, and I snapped back into that mode. Sometimes I wish I could reach back into the past and kind of give myself a slap in the face.
I should take a vow of silence just to see how much negative crap pops into my head. It's too easy for me to just say whatever is on my mind, unfiltered. Anyways, enough self loathing. I will try to not be such a sourpuss.
Some things were small and nitty, such as when a friend says "I like how they integrated the buttons into the touchpad" referring to the new MBP (macbookpro for the uninitiated). Now Instead of lauding what is actually a nice feature and that I kind of like, I thought of the first negative thing that came to my mind: "I dunno, it's kind of gimmicky." probably because of a bias against Apple computer that was ingrained in me from a very young age. It's a sad thing since despite their pitfalls, Apple has always been consistently ahead in a lot of places that count, namely visual, tactile, and overall user interface. Okay, so I could create a completely new blog post about this, so let's get back to me being a negative nancy.
The above example was only one of the small, nitty things that I was a downer about. The worse things are more shameful, like just being a jerk beyond any comedic point, and disagreeing with everything for the sake of it.
Conditioning? I think I have maybe made myself used to a climate of fighting and bickering in the past, and I snapped back into that mode. Sometimes I wish I could reach back into the past and kind of give myself a slap in the face.
I should take a vow of silence just to see how much negative crap pops into my head. It's too easy for me to just say whatever is on my mind, unfiltered. Anyways, enough self loathing. I will try to not be such a sourpuss.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Insomnia
Content, comfortable, conked out. When I am asleep it's all I really want. I could sleep all day if I have no reason to be awake. Last night I couldn't sleep and I chalked it up to sleeping in the night before. The restless, eye darting, staring at the ceiling and contemplating thoughts can last for hours if I just don't feel like sleeping. So of course last night I did what any reasonable person would do. I grabbed a tired old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, popped it into the portable dvd player, and simultaneously watched it and two different football games (actually it was more like 6). I also did some net surfing, not that it made any difference. What I probably should have done (and should be doing now) is gone outside and just run to exhaustion. If every person who suffers from "night owl mode", "insomnia", "graveyard workers hours" or whatever you want to call it, if every one of us just focused all of our energy into night runs, or cleaning up trash from the streets, or something else actually productive, the world would probably be a much better place. Nope, instead people such as myself choose to rehash dumb old movies, or surf the net as if anything has changed since the last time you checked it. Maybe if I spent more of my waking hours doing something with my energy like working towards my goals (the pipeline aka superman school), then I could probably take the PAST in two weeks and max out my score. Of course if I did that, who would drink all this beer in my fridge and eat these delicious potato chips? Somebody has to do it.
Helpless
Is this the first time out?
I am attached to a SEAL team and our assignment is to rescue hostages from a ship controlled by pirates.
The infiltration was successful. They keep coming from here and there like targets in a shooting gallery and all I can think is about how simple and scary it is all at once. My team is working our way through and the bad guys keep shooting at us. I see one of our guys dive down as the bullets are flying past him. I think he's okay, but I can't tell. I am feeling trapped. I can't escape and the only thing to do is keep on fighting. I can see my guy now. He's still down on the ground. He reaches up to me and sound but no words come out. Just then I swing around and shoot at the guy behind me, but he's on my team. The bullets heal like wolverine and I am stunned that my man isn't dead. I have no time to feel bad for the fact that I fragged a member of my own team, or to understand why he's still alive despite my shooting him. Why didn't I recognize him? I look down at our team mate and he has two wounds to the torso. One in the abdomen and one in the chest. The blood is redder than it should be. Is this real? It felt like one of those Frank Miller graphic novels. As the pararescue of the team it falls on me to save him, but I already know that there's nothing I can do. His wounds are fatal and it all seems so pointless. I take out my fluid, which is really just water. I pour it over his wounds and it makes him feel better somehow. He looks up at me and my miraculously still alive team mate, and the life fades away from his eyes. I was helpless to save him and now it will be on my conscience forever. Luckily this is when I woke up and realized that it was all a dream.
I am attached to a SEAL team and our assignment is to rescue hostages from a ship controlled by pirates.
The infiltration was successful. They keep coming from here and there like targets in a shooting gallery and all I can think is about how simple and scary it is all at once. My team is working our way through and the bad guys keep shooting at us. I see one of our guys dive down as the bullets are flying past him. I think he's okay, but I can't tell. I am feeling trapped. I can't escape and the only thing to do is keep on fighting. I can see my guy now. He's still down on the ground. He reaches up to me and sound but no words come out. Just then I swing around and shoot at the guy behind me, but he's on my team. The bullets heal like wolverine and I am stunned that my man isn't dead. I have no time to feel bad for the fact that I fragged a member of my own team, or to understand why he's still alive despite my shooting him. Why didn't I recognize him? I look down at our team mate and he has two wounds to the torso. One in the abdomen and one in the chest. The blood is redder than it should be. Is this real? It felt like one of those Frank Miller graphic novels. As the pararescue of the team it falls on me to save him, but I already know that there's nothing I can do. His wounds are fatal and it all seems so pointless. I take out my fluid, which is really just water. I pour it over his wounds and it makes him feel better somehow. He looks up at me and my miraculously still alive team mate, and the life fades away from his eyes. I was helpless to save him and now it will be on my conscience forever. Luckily this is when I woke up and realized that it was all a dream.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Panic?
1:30 AM.
I am looking in the mirror doing a routine many of us know well. Perhaps we all do it differently or not at all. I am rinsing, flossing, brushing... when suddenly it hits me.
First I freeze up. I look in the mirror and my eyes are reflecting back a look of terror. Then I realize I have stopped breathing. My chest is solidly immobile and I start to feel the room closing around me. What's happening to me? Why do I feel this way? Have I made a horrible mistake? Breathe. It's okay. Breathe. I am okay. Breathe. It's over. Breathe. Just breathe. As the oxygen starts flowing through my body again I can feel a sense of relief. The panic is over, and it only lasted a few seconds. Was it even that? It felt like time stood still, as if I had stopped the world around me for just a moment.
What brought this on? Why is it that when all I feel is a numbed and stowed version of the pain that I cause, suddenly it has the ability to lash out at me? Perhaps I am not so invulnerable after all. Through all of these past days, months, and years, I have felt little. Sure, on the surface I am happy, sometimes I even show a little frustration. When the pain that you trap inside comes flailing to the surface, gasping for air, begging to live, I only see one option. Breathe.
When you let these feelings take over, they control you. They don't just live in you, they live off of you like a parasite. It's healthy to feel things. Everyone needs to laugh, cry, even occasionally be angry, but it's so important to lead with a cool head and know that you're in control. As powerful as sorrow, anger, remorse, or 'love' may feel, I will not let them run my life.
Happiness is something I chose a long time ago. When you feel the deepest of depressions, sometimes the only way out is to fly. Just remember that if you fly too far, you may get lost, and that's okay. Sometimes we need to be lost. Sometimes we need to fly too far and lose our way, so that we can learn that the air flows through our wings differently here than it does there. Only then can we really understand life.
So just breathe. It will pass. Just breathe.
Breathe.
I am looking in the mirror doing a routine many of us know well. Perhaps we all do it differently or not at all. I am rinsing, flossing, brushing... when suddenly it hits me.
First I freeze up. I look in the mirror and my eyes are reflecting back a look of terror. Then I realize I have stopped breathing. My chest is solidly immobile and I start to feel the room closing around me. What's happening to me? Why do I feel this way? Have I made a horrible mistake? Breathe. It's okay. Breathe. I am okay. Breathe. It's over. Breathe. Just breathe. As the oxygen starts flowing through my body again I can feel a sense of relief. The panic is over, and it only lasted a few seconds. Was it even that? It felt like time stood still, as if I had stopped the world around me for just a moment.
What brought this on? Why is it that when all I feel is a numbed and stowed version of the pain that I cause, suddenly it has the ability to lash out at me? Perhaps I am not so invulnerable after all. Through all of these past days, months, and years, I have felt little. Sure, on the surface I am happy, sometimes I even show a little frustration. When the pain that you trap inside comes flailing to the surface, gasping for air, begging to live, I only see one option. Breathe.
When you let these feelings take over, they control you. They don't just live in you, they live off of you like a parasite. It's healthy to feel things. Everyone needs to laugh, cry, even occasionally be angry, but it's so important to lead with a cool head and know that you're in control. As powerful as sorrow, anger, remorse, or 'love' may feel, I will not let them run my life.
Happiness is something I chose a long time ago. When you feel the deepest of depressions, sometimes the only way out is to fly. Just remember that if you fly too far, you may get lost, and that's okay. Sometimes we need to be lost. Sometimes we need to fly too far and lose our way, so that we can learn that the air flows through our wings differently here than it does there. Only then can we really understand life.
So just breathe. It will pass. Just breathe.
Breathe.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Feeling
It punctuates the air like an exclamation point in the growing darkness of night. The cold is sharp and fast. It flows over my body as a river over the bedrock. Still the stinging produces nothing. My eyes are welling and tears begin to flow. This isn't emotion I am feeling. I do not shiver and I respect the cold like a local in a village I am passing through. I choose not to give in, even though my eyes have already shown a response. They produce more fluid, and it continues to run down my cheeks, like so much windshield wiper fluid on the freeway. I know that it's a natural response, to protect my eyes from drying up. But it's the closest thing I have felt to crying, and it feels good.
Here I go
Well keys,
It's been a while since we've done this dance together. I use you so much on a daily basis, but our meetings are short. The most I seem to have caressed you in the past few months was a fleetingly short email or snappy reply on some news wire.
The keyboards of the past have been many things to me. They have been a resting place for my hands when all I could do is stare into the abyss that is a computer screen and the vast sea it contains. They have been my solace when I was so upset or angry that I had to pour out my emotions and thoughts through them.
I have practiced the fine art of killing using keys like these. I took pleasure in the way my fingers could manipulate the always returning buttons labeled w, a, s, and d. In a finely choreographed partnership with the mouse, thousands of foolish have fallen at my hands.
I have written lines of code, dull and dreary. Fueled only by the desire to create something. It was a need that could only be fulfilled by the tireless effort of typing every < and every /. Only when the end result was a page that I knew I had created from scratch, was I able to take pride in what I had done.
All of that is gone now. I am back here again, thinking about what time may have been wasted on such frivolous endeavors, seeking only to fill the time with something more than the sounds of the clock ticking on the wall or the crickets chirping outside. It could all be drowned out by a soft, random clicking sound if only I had something to say.
Once again I come back to these perfectly shaped friends. Tickling each of them until I am content with the end result. Perhaps this time around, the affair will have meaning. Perhaps, this time around, I will find true love that lasts in these strokes of thought.
It's been a while since we've done this dance together. I use you so much on a daily basis, but our meetings are short. The most I seem to have caressed you in the past few months was a fleetingly short email or snappy reply on some news wire.
The keyboards of the past have been many things to me. They have been a resting place for my hands when all I could do is stare into the abyss that is a computer screen and the vast sea it contains. They have been my solace when I was so upset or angry that I had to pour out my emotions and thoughts through them.
I have practiced the fine art of killing using keys like these. I took pleasure in the way my fingers could manipulate the always returning buttons labeled w, a, s, and d. In a finely choreographed partnership with the mouse, thousands of foolish have fallen at my hands.
I have written lines of code, dull and dreary. Fueled only by the desire to create something. It was a need that could only be fulfilled by the tireless effort of typing every < and every /. Only when the end result was a page that I knew I had created from scratch, was I able to take pride in what I had done.
All of that is gone now. I am back here again, thinking about what time may have been wasted on such frivolous endeavors, seeking only to fill the time with something more than the sounds of the clock ticking on the wall or the crickets chirping outside. It could all be drowned out by a soft, random clicking sound if only I had something to say.
Once again I come back to these perfectly shaped friends. Tickling each of them until I am content with the end result. Perhaps this time around, the affair will have meaning. Perhaps, this time around, I will find true love that lasts in these strokes of thought.
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