May 31st through June 1st From work to family life in 2016

The day proceeded in a dull fashion. However, Tateishi Sensei returned, and, with his return, I had two additional classes. That was the rough sum of events. Lunch with 3-2 was surprisingly pleasant, though I made a bit of a blunder. A kid dropped a metal tray, so, Michigander that I am, I said the Greek, “Opa!” forgetting that, in Japanese, that’s breast. I think the boring linguistics lecture after the event, to the couple kids who heard, settled things. Man I hope so.
In grading papers for Inori, I learned that our town mascot, Satsumaru-chan, is, in fact, a firefly. I had never been entirely sure. It makes sense, though. I also graded a paper declaring Pokemon to be the national sport of Japan. I ranked it in the top three for class winners. It was just . . . amazing.
After school, I rushed to the bank, where I bumped into Kazumi. This was perfect, because she knew of a pool where I could swim. Then I rushed to the town office to pay a bill whose purpose I still don’t know. Then it was off to physical therapy (or whatever one calls it) again. I am feeling a lot better, but there’s still some pain. Then it was off to the grocery store where all the chicken was gone (the small pieces anyway) and I realized that I simply did not feel like cooking at all. Coffee it was, then. After this, I went to a pharmacy to pick up a laxative. I need to start cooking at home again. Why is it all so time consuming? When will the whining rhetorical questions end? Thankfully Family Mart had a relatively un-caloric salad (the new ones at 7-11 are just awful) and a sushi set with the calories printed. I love sushi, but it’s difficult to eat because the estimates on its calories is so varied.
After that, I played some guitar (it didn’t go well) and worked on some vocal work (that went worse). Some days just don’t work for these kinds of things. I talked to Simona a decent amount online. We’re being very sweet and affectionate. I’m worried about what’s going to happen post August. Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. With far more decision than I have in the past. Listening to her tell the stories of her mooning former lover who can’t get over her and debases himself again and again to get in her good graces reminds me, uncomfortably, of various bouts of sucking in my own life. Well, never again. Never again to that mess.
I went to bed still reading the Jefferson biography which is taking FAR longer that it should. It’s not well written, and I’m not that interested, and I’m busy. Still, I think that this is the right technique. I’m building up a knowledge of the characters of history. The same people feature in these stories, but they have different parts, and everything fills in blanks left by other sources. This thing, though, feels like a hagiography that seeks to avoid that title by condemning Jefferson’s weakness on slavery. However, that is, theologically speaking, what makes it a hagiography. It was Jefferson’s one sin, making him fall short of the glory of God. Without that, this author seems to believe, he was perfect. The Adams and Washington biographies were, of course, laudatory, but this one? It can’t seem to decide whether it’s a biography, a moralizing history, a political analysis, a personality sketch, or a half dozen other options. It’s weak. However, it was the best reviewed. Jefferson seems like a man of his times who’s hard to pin down with our modern understanding of what a man is and what he ought to be.
My sleep was pretty lousy, but understandably so. My stomach was full of late night cereal, dissolving laxative, and tons of water that I’d been told to drink before sleeping. I woke up repeatedly during the night to sound and fury signifying nothing (thankfully), but at 6 AM, when I woke up (an hour before my alarm) I realized that being asleep much longer would likely lead to an amusing anecdote that I’d no desire to share. Also new bedsheets.
After succumbing to the inevitable, it seemed that sleep was unlikely, so, I went downstairs and turned on my computer. Windows 10 had installed itself. The fucking bastards. Thankfully, I had the soundness of mind to decline the license agreement and it then (after fifteen minutes of chugging and churning) reverted to Windows 7. I fully intent to never buy another Microsoft product in my entire life. They are completely ignoring their customer base and shoving something down the throats of a populace who have liked ONE OS since XP. Nobody liked Vista, nobody liked 8, nobody likes 10. I’ve seen teacher here scramble to stop the installation process. Just about everyone here uses XP still because, frankly, why would you upgrade to systems that nobody likes? Microsoft is abusing its position as the dominant OS. I simply wish that Apple or Google were more trustworthy. I hate this. I hate this so much.
Well, today I thought that I had Inori, but, instead, I’ve got Ebihara. They switched on me. Also (shockingly) I’ve got 3 classes with her (which NEVER happens). Tateishi wants me for two classes, meaning that I’ve got first, second, fourth, fifth, and sixth. This is a day I’d really rather not be doing so much teaching. Partly back, partly sleep, partly fear of needing to run to the bathroom or crap my pants. I took a double dose because Japanese medicine never works (dosage is 1-3 pills, I started on 2). Well, this one sure did.
I’m not going to be able to meet my exercise goal today. I’ve got to rush right to physical therapy, then rush off to Eikaiwa (maybe there will be time between for cereal). I also don’t have time to get walking done at school because, as mentioned, I’ve got one free period.
I missed about a zillion calls from Anna. She just called me a few minutes ago, and, thankfully, I picked up. She and her boyfriend broke up. I’d been thinking about her a lot lately and kept meaning to call her. When I saw that I’d missed three calls this morning, I knew that I should call, but, the computer update infuriated me to distraction and I forgot. Poor dear. I’d forgotten how sweet her voice was. I do miss her.
Although not specifically with Anna, much comes to mind around her, and her world, and what she represents. Would I be happy with that kind of girl? Or would I realize, like Levin, but too late, that this was not a life for me. Do I want to wait for a Kitty? Do I want to pursue an Anna? Do I want to ignore the urging of nature and affection in favor of a freedom that seems to dull my appreciation of freedom? It’s hard to say. What is for me and what is for others, I have always viewed as fundamentally incompatible.
It’s a sad fact that in these depreciated days, every fool believes himself to be an individual. We’re all the exceptions. What is good for everyone else in the neighborhood is unsuitable to us. Yet, in my own case, while I do believe it to be true, I feel that proof of its veracity is to be found in how much I mourn it.
For nearly any sensible person, who had not been sold lies or stumbled onto truth, a girl like Anna would be perfect. At any point in time before WWII, she would be the kind of girl that anybody would appreciate. Sensible, hardworking, dedicated, honest, faithful, pleasant, diligent, and everything else that nowadays sounds like I am damning her with faint praise. Why are so many marriages miserable? Because those who inspire more passion in the moment lack Anna’s nobility in the long term. We want more. Meanwhile, others, like myself, have formed a philosophical concept of love so far removed from normal human experience as to cheap and demean any actual discovery of it. I am searching for Plato’s forms in a lovely figure. I doubt that this kind of thing can exist, even were I able to appreciate it. And yet, I cannot seem to accept that this is the case, and I pursue, in a manner, this unobtainable dream. There is nobility in it. There is futility in it. I have been weighing them in the balance more and more, yet I am unsure of the scale itself. Who am I to judge? So I continue alone.
My beliefs on the theory of marriage are so at odds with what I have observed that I can’t really sanction the institution for anybody whose company I particularly enjoy. The extreme individuality and individual appeal of the people I have loved does not fare well in an existence where “two become one” in much more than the literal sense. People lose themselves in one another. I know that I do it, yet, I find that by balancing influences, I can have a sense of me. I think that maybe that’s why I’m best in active social settings: I can stimulate so much of myself (and need to) in order to keep up with everybody. I thrive in the spotlight and I excel in competition. In isolation, I wither. Marriage seems to be, practically, to be a very lonely state. A wife is not an audience, yet, it seems that I’ve got to have one or the other.
I’m not sure if my greatly diminished sex drive is due to a collapse of testosterone levels due to atrophied muscles and morbid obesity, psychological revulsion at my weight, getting older, or another symptom of presumed depression. I do wonder what my reaction to Simona will be. Of course, it’s been ages since I was with a girl for whom I even felt a particularly strong physical attraction. Excepting a few, brief, assignations with Amber, the last would be Evangeline about three years ago. Audrey and Jordan barely count. I’m curious to see what happens, though, of course, that’s another complication. Still, sometimes life needs to be a bit complicated.
I realize, just now, as I type this, that perhaps my current desire for children come from a desire from an audience that I can love completely. I can teach them. They can push me. I can push them. I can entertain and shape them. All the time, playing with my adorable students, I think to myself, “I want one of these.” When I consider which would be less obnoxious, I can honestly say that I’d prefer a child to a wife. However, even for people in much better financial circumstances than myself, single parenthood is irresponsibly cruel for the child. Any child that lacks two parents is to be pitied, and the selfishness of people who enforce that state for anything but dire reasons baffles my mind.
I think it’s odd that the notion of children is becoming more appealing as the notion of marriage is so utterly abhorrent still. I think maybe that’s why Anna, and girls like her, come to mind. She’d be a great mother. Reading Jefferson’s biography, or Adams’, or Washington’s, it’s tempting to imagine myself as some distant, but loving, father. Adoring, and adored by, children and grandchildren. With authority, gravitas, and dignitas, yet, with King Agesilaus’ ability to get down on all fours and play with them when the time is right. It’s a role that I could play until it became who I was. I’m starting to think, more and more, that we are the characters we decide to be. Everything is play. The question that is most pertinent, though, is what impact self-awareness has on all of this?
It’s frustrating to find myself seeing, more and more, what I believe to be the theoretical underpinnings of people, and groups, and society, and institutions, while knowing that my knowledge somehow sets me apart from an ability to use it. I was a skilled manipulator. But I had to affect what others achieved naturally, and, when I was at my best, I made it appear to be natural. No mean feat.
Yesterday (or so), when bored, I saw on Wikipedia that Samuel Pepys ended his diary on that day due to failing eyesight. I wonder if I’ll ever be a noted diarist. Doubtful. Maybe some theoretical complier could make something useful out of these tangled webs of malformed ideas. I suppose that I’ll wonder. Part of me wants to discuss current events, but, most of me seeks to keep these opinions away from anything that can be searched. My thoughts on the world around me, in political specifics, are probably best kept to myself until I see just how high the victors of our current contest erect their guillotine.
I want to write more, which is good in and of itself, but I have little to say. I’ll record here that the muscles around my mouth feel oddly tight and twitchy lately. I’m not sure why. Talking, possibly, or singing. Making faces for/at/with kids. But it feels very . . . tired. Very tingly. Almost like the muscles are going to sleep. I don’t know what to make of it.
This entry, as predicted, passed 120K words. Congratulate me on my second novel this year.