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there’s a kind of hyper buzz in my head these few weeks, a bad kind–the kind you would expect in your gut when you ate something real bad and feel all bloaty and can’t stop farting and wondering if you’re gonna throw up soon or not. But in my head. And instead of farting I panic and mess things up.  And feel like I wish I could just blow my brains out at least 3 out of 5 days on my way back home from work.

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What I really want to do when I get home at 7-8pm on Friday evening is get inside a blanket and write and read until I fall asleep.

What I really need to do when I get home at 7-8pm on Friday evening is start a major house cleaning operation, wash and clean until I drop, and then continue next morning.

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How my own idiocy turns around to save me:

Me: stuffing big hardcover book into my smaller bag (I really didn’t want to carry a bigger bag), being surprised that it actually fits, not realising that it only fits because my wallet is not there.
Me: hour later on the train, finally realising why the book was able to fit. Realising that no wallet means no coffee money and no lunch money. Trying to think if 900 yen ($9) I probably have on my train card will be enough to by something… somewhere.
Me: 5 mins later, sticking my hand in my pocket and finding my credit card, which I forgot there when I went out to convenience store 3 days ago.

I usually never carry cards in my pockets.
And now my one slip-up saves me from my another slip-up.

Medetashi-Medetashi.

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Sometimes I can’t believe what a terrible job people do editing gaming magazines. There’s so many typos and mistakes, I can’t believe they waste the paper…

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This one is just plain insulting though. (Because no matter how famous the Witcher games are, it’s always going to be one of the best fantasy book series first.)

If I could draw funny pictures, I’d try to draw Uruguayan version of the witcher here.

 

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Secretly I’ve always known that my handwriting is so bad because deep inside I’d prefer that no one was able to read the stuff I wrote down.

Is what I think every time a page form an old diary falls out from somewhere.

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The tendency of japanese ‘positive tv dramas’ to send an anti-relationship message kind of gets on my nerves.

Just because they make them with a purpose to send a message, and that’s the message they choose to send.

The ‘I like you very much (and half of the drama was centred about how I much I like you), but you’ll get in the way of me working my work so lets not be in any kind of relationship’.
And the ‘I can’t love people and do my work simultaneously, so I have to choose one and I will choose my work’ message.

The more you watch the more you realise that they are pathologically afraid or incapable of portraying functional adult romantic/family relationships. It’s either ‘schoolgirl-level childish romance’ or ‘sociopathic screwups everywhere’ kind of deal.

 

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Usually, even if I think ‘I want to smoke’, I forget about it right away,
because I was never addicted, and I’m too tired to move anyway.
But I’m feeling like I’m reaching a point when I need to use smoking as an excuse
to stand on the balcony looking at the night lights of Tokyo
with a bummed out expression on my face. And do nothing.

I’m pretty sure that’s the whole point of smoking in modern world. An excuse to pretend that you can ‘take a break’ for few minutes, leave everything and just stand in one place.
Go outside. Leave the room. Pretend like you have to stop whatever you were doing to go for a smoke.

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This band should be 1000 times more recognised and appreciated than it probably is.

They speak right to the soul, sometimes a bit too much, and I don’t think I’ve met any other English-speaking band do it like they do.

 

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Another not very pleasant dream feeling – when I get stuck in-between state, and am supposed to be in this world of a fantasy book I’m reading, but I’m slowly waking up and the real world overlaps and turns it into something weird like riding a metro train to battle, besieged castle having an electronic glass backdoor, me hurrying trying to find and wear my armour and only finding my real 10-year old horse riding trousers.

The frustration is real.

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I have this strange love and hate relationship with Tokyo…
I sorta can’t imagine I will be able to live anywhere else by myself/and be myself…
… but at the same time living here is sorta killing me in more than one way…

 

 

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I wonder why… with all the amazing kinds food out there… (especially in this country, where national obsession with food is the main topic on tv all day every day)…
… why is it, that nothing really can win in a long run to fresh bread with olive oil and salt.

(or garlic bread topped with some good grated cheese – like gouda)