August 29, 2006 – 2:20 am
I finished a book, a few days ago, in which the heroine had a vision of herself in the future, where her brother and sister had married and left, and she was left alone to care for her mother grown old… and she had nothing but her oppressive duty.
It scared the heroine, and it scared me too. For she saw very clearly her bleak, empty life, the result of despair and complete withdrawal after seeing her love marry someone else. She saw no escape, no way to touch what she wanted. What she saw, could easily be my future too.
What would it be, if I never found “the one”?
I’m tired. I’m sick of repeating the hurt. I hate hating myself for not being able to get what I want. I’m just sad and jealous and upset and depressed and a host of other really negative mental states, and I have a frickin’ huge proposal in a tight deadline looming with 2 people to direct, and here I am spewing my guts when I should be hammering out the concept for the ultimate real estate search engine slash portal in Japan… and I just can’t get you out of my head.
And to think, a week ago I was high on endorphines. Ahhh, fuck love, I should just start running 10 klicks again.
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August 20, 2006 – 3:10 pm
Last night I sat on a grassy bank of the Tamagawa River, surrounded by good friends and beer and food, watching brilliant fireworks light up the night sky. The breeze was cool, and our little spot was spacious, and we all gasped and cheered appropriately with each ingeniuous creation.
The week before I was in Tokushima, deep in the drunken revelry of that festival of fools’ festivals, Awaodori. The night as a loud, clashing dream, jostling with all sorts of people, dancing in front of the spectators, watching in awe as men pounded huge taiko drums while their fellow troupe members flung about in perfect syncronization.
And during the day, trips and chats and food and laundry – because, you know, the happi get really nasty with sweat and dirt and five different types of spilt alcohol.
Returning back to Tokyo, stopping in Osaka, riding the supremely crowded bullet train crammed in the deck between cars, visiting the Ramen Museum in Shin Yokohama…
It was a good summer. Even the deep blue funk, of self-pity and irrational jealousy, on that last day, as I sat on the grass in the park while the members of our troupe straggled in, and the alchohol high had worn off… even that I managed to shake off the next day.
It’s nearly over, this summer. Last night, sitting on the grass, feeling the wind, giddy on a crush… feels like I’m 20 again and summer is calling.
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