Oddly, it's the really silly things that make me feel most grown-up.

I feel like an adult when I do little things, like take initiative to do my laundry or clean the kitchen or vacuum--when I do, basically, all the things my parents used to nag me to do. I go grocery shopping or run errands and I feel responsible. Last night the Roommate and I went to see the Seattle Rock Orchestra and I felt grown-up and cultured.


Of course, then I immediately scupper my image of Responsible Adult by bragging about my newfound maturity on the internet. So, YMMV.

Things I'm Bad At, part 2

I'm terrible at convincing myself to put pants on so I can go buy breakfast like a responsible adult.

Actually I'm just terrible at being a responsible adult.

This is a list of the things I am bad at.

1. Dating.

2. Not being nervous about everything.

3. Not freaking out after a job interview.

4. Being patient.

5. Meeting people's parents.

6. Not being really tsun at everyone all the time.

7. Making my crepes thin and crispy. They are however delicious.

The Birthday Letter, 2010

Dear Self,

Congratulations. You are twenty-two. You are six years older than your big brother, and four years past your stated life expectancy. Be happy.

In the last year you have made some stupid, stupid choices. You enabled an alcoholic. You let people who weren't doctors prescribe you medication. You stuck around a bad situation way longer than you should have.

You also got out. You packed a suitcase and moved cross-country in an act of either ultimate guts or ultimate stupidity (pick one). You stopped biting your nails, which means you're either less nervous or just better at hiding it.

And you didn't do it alone. You made amazing friends who refused to let you ignore that something was Very Wrong, and who put everything they could into getting you out of that mess. You owe them a lot and you better not goddamn forget it.

What I Learned This Year that I Need to Remember:

1. When the alarm bells are ringing in your head, listen to them. And if you are desensitized to the sound of air raid sirens, then listen to your friends when they tell you the bomb's about to drop.

2. Antidepressants that weren't prescribed for you by a doctor are bad. Xanax that wasn't prescribed for you by a doctor is worse.

3. Stop being scared. Be direct. Don't mess around. The world will forgive you if you're just honest. (Unless, of course, you are Crazy Email Guy).

What I Hope to Learn in the Coming Year:

1. Something, anything, about how social interaction is supposed to work.

Dear psyche/subconscious/whatever,

That was so not cool.

The dream about me being some kind of gang warlord? Yeah, that was a low fucking blow. You know I am not into that "what may have been" bullshit.

The sex dream about John Mayer? What were you thinking, psyche? That was just awkward. While he is very hot and very talented and (apparently) a kinky bastard, I strongly suspect that all that touring has left him with Things I Don't Want to Catch, and I'm not taking that risk for any musician who isn't Billy Idol.

>:| Seriously, subconscious, you need to get your shit together. I am not inclined to tolerate this sort of misbehavior any longer.

There is something about me that turns ordinary people into psychopaths.

This is something I've known for a fairly long time, to be honest. This is something I have seen happen many times in the past. There is something about me that makes people go crazy. I don't know what it could possibly be, but it definitely exists. Maybe it's pheromones.

But whatever it is, it takes otherwise reasonable people and it makes them angry. It makes them do things like throw me into walls and try to crush my hands in sandwich presses and try to ram the car I'm in with their shitty American hatchbacks.

And sometimes, like today, it just makes them write me multiple nasty emails.

Backstory: on Sunday I went on a coffee date with this guy I'd exchanged a couple of emails with. He was nice, we had a lot in common, I wasn't really sure if I was into him but I didn't want to dismiss him out of hand. We chatted a couple times on AIM (directly after I got home, which I found a bit odd) and, still very unsure but hesitant to reject him so early on, I agreed to see him again. He followed this up with an email a bit later asking what kind of impression he'd made and where he stood with me, since he was getting the vibe that I wasn't all that into him.

I decided that I had learned from mistakes I'd made in the past and that therefore, if he was already getting that feeling from me, I should cut both our losses now. I've let awkward semi-relationships drag on for way too long in the past. It was a massive mistake then, and it'd still be a massive mistake now. So I figured I'd better let this one go.

Even so, I didn't want to be a jerk about it. So I wrote him an email. Translated from the Japanese, this is what I said to him:

I'm someone who's really bad at reading situations, so I'm not good at chatting with people. But, I'd like to think that in the end I'm a straightforward guy. 

I had fun Sunday but to be honest, I got the feeling that "we're not really a good match." You're a great guy but...what I'm trying to say is that I didn't really feel a connection. It's a shame, and I feel a bit guilty, but I don't want to waste your time, so I'm gonna stop here. 

I'm seriously sorry for having troubled you.

And I figured that that would be the end of it. But less than two minutes later, GMail was informing me that I had a message.

You're cruel. Way too cruel.

Okay, maybe I hadn't let him down as gently as I hoped I did. That's too bad and I'm sorry about it, but it would have been worse to lead him on.

Five minutes later, the next message came in. 

You seriously evaluate yourself as "strong"? This attitude, this pretense, however you look at it, it's not strength. To think "let's use such cold, rude words and actions to others!" absolutely isn't strength at all. It's cowardice. 


But that doesn't change anything. Things that can't be helped, can't be helped. It really is a shame. It's a shame you're so mean...

But no, Crazy Email Guy wasn't done! There was a third message half an hour later, because having the last word twice over wasn't good enough.

Huh, you don't even have the courage to respond. That seriously pisses me off. Well, farewell to another weak human.

By this time, I am laughing various appendages off for a multitude of reasons.

1) Three emails? Really, dude? Wasn't one enough?
2) We had one date. While I'm sorry to have wasted your time, I really hope you didn't invest that much emotional energy into this "courtship."
3) The word that I have translated here as "farewell" was さらば, which would indicate that this man is 26 going on 60.

I think I dodged a bullet here.

I love the sounds of this city.

I lie here sometimes at night, on my futon on the floor, and just listen.

The trains go by, whistling. We're about six blocks from the shoreline and I can hear the boats on quiet nights. Some jackass has hung wind chimes in a tree outside, and though wind chimes usually send me into unreasonable fits of murderous rage, I don't mind them all that much here.

The neighbors walk through the courtyard, speaking a dozen different languages. Their dogs bark. The seagulls cry. I am in love with all of it.

Holiday from Real

I made it to Seattle in one piece, despite flying out September 11th.  I'm crashing on a friend's floor for a little while until I get my shit together. I've put in over 80 applications and I've got a part-time job now. I'm waiting to hear back on a few other interviews.

In the meantime I've been busy falling in love--with Chinatown, with my culture, with the sights and sounds and the lights and the buzz. Maybe my inability to settle down and all my moving and traveling was supposed to bring me here.

Or maybe I just got lucky. I feel pretty lucky; in fact I haven't been sad since I left Norfolk. What's done is too fucked up to fix and therefore not worth crying over, right?

I'm glad to be doing good for once.

You don't realize how much stuff you have until you're moving.

I've reached the phase in packing where I've barely made a dent in it but the task ahead seems insurmountable. I have too much stuff, and he has too much stuff, and it's impossible to extricate all our stuff from how it's gotten mixed up over the last few years.

Which is why I'm on the Internet instead, avoiding the sea of Things at my feet--Things that belong in boxes, and trashbags, and suitcases, that I wish would have the decency to put themselves there rather than rely on me to do it for them.

I would probably feel a little less helpless if I wasn't also projecting my insecurities onto the cat, who is marching around and yelling at me like a little dictator or an angry child. All I can do is shush him and tell him that I have no answers for him and stop asking.

I am moving to Seattle on Saturday. I have no idea what I am really doing with my life from then on besides I hope studying kung-fu. I am unprepared and slightly scared.

Regardless, I have hope.

I have hope, and empty suitcases, and too many Things.

Back to packing.