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Just got off the phone from talking with Shinya. Sometimes I don't understand half the things he says, but it still makes me smile. Apparently he'd been wanting to call me for a while, but didn't have my number or mail addy.

I'm listening to "Bliss" by Tori Amos and it's like liquid sugar over my mood. Don't lick me--you'll get addicted.

Said he was totally shocked to get an email from me asking to hang out tonight. He wondered what was up. He'd also been depressed since there hadn't been any Canaan House parties lately. (I had, too, but I wasn't about to just up and spill.)

We both spoke in stop and starts in Japanese and English. My cellphone is a piece of shit. Had to hold the receiver far from my ear and drip everything through each language filter. So many things had to be repeated and explained from and for both sides.

He has a ready laugh. I like that.

I reminded him about catching him with a mouthful of dried seaweed at the English Camp. "Is that all you remember about me?" he asked.

He invited me to an "event" in Nanba with all the foreign exchange students, but that's the night of Komura-sensei's goodbye party. I can't really complain, though--if I didn't have that to go to, I'd have made plans to attend the Thanksgiving dinner at KCJS (not that I know any students there this year, but it'd have been nice to see Dr. Copeland). God didn't make the day after Thanksgiving so we could all go run around like turkeys with our heads cut off. The Japanese just don't understand the whole point of Thanksgiving. ^_~

At one point he said, "Dammit, I don't have my planner with me!" We'll make more definite plans when he emails me with his schedule later on.

Shinya's moving to Tokyo at the end of March. So we can hang out until then, which is perfect. ^_^

I'm young and having fun for the first time in my life.

[Okay, that's a total lie. Well, the second part is.]

But my mood tonight is so rich and sweet that you could sink your teeth into it and come out with cavities. We're not doing anything tonight--he's busy with school stuff--but this still means I'm doing something active in my own life, which is unusual for me. I'm naturally passive. The edges of my soul stretch out and touch people, looking for signs that I'm being a bother. I'm afraid.

I put up my fiber-optic Christmas tree. I decorated it and put a garland across the top edge of my bookcase. Lights and more decorations to come soon. I have to start early because I'm leaving early.

I wish I had a week starting today in which I had to do nothing but create. The thrill would be gone by Monday, but these feelings always deceptively seem eternal.

It's taken me a year to get comfortable here. I've finally started exploring a bit (not really). Maybe it's the influence of the wave of newcomers, maybe it's maturity, maybe I'm feeling trapped.

I love wandering around in the rain without an umbrella.

I was wondering earlier today if mental illness could be learned. We learn patterns of behavior through exposure and mimicry. Why can't racing thoughts and neurosis be learned? I wonder what's in the genes and what's monkey-see-monkey-do.

I do like all these new ideas I keep having, but if I didn't have my drugs, I have no idea how I'd be able to sleep at night. It's always good because it works as an effective reminder in case I do happen to forget to take them, but I wonder.... Could I shut my head up if I wanted to? I half fear that I've been training myself in thought-production all the past year and now I don't know how to stop it. Not that I want to stop it, it's just...strange. It's not that I'm any more conscious or aware of things, it's just that there's a constant flow of ideas, words, thoughts. This streaming inner soliloquy, like my own personal newscaster.

Case in point #1: this entry. It started off okay, but it's getting longer and more bizarre, and not by design.

Case in point #2: um, well, I really did have another example, but I turned to switch my music over and it left me. Not to worry: it's come to me twice before and the third time's the charm.

I'm trying to develop myself not just visually but also aurally. As such, I've been finding "theme songs" for my characters. The Chief was by far the easiest: the Black Eyed Peas' "Let's Get It Started." Sebry is definitely Coldplay's "Warning Sign" (but I can't tell you how 'cuz that'd give away some plot points). ^_~ No clue yet what Layna or any of the others are, but I'm sure my badass character might end up being something by Rage Against the Machine. Or maybe that's too light. Dunno.

I can't make it to Brent's tournament tomorrow, but good luck to him, anyway!!! Trounce those little Japanese guys!

Dan and Kelsye both agreed that stuff sounds so much more fun in my lj than it was in real life. Does that mean I'm that boring in person, or am I that good a writer? Couldn't help but take it in the best way and a small part of me is quite pleased with itself now. ^_^

The great moral mass in my brain has thrown out hooks and nails to drag me away from the great evil that is WRITING, but I find myself sucked down into the trap anyway. It's almost as therapeutic now as it was when I first started writing in 5th grade. I stopped writing "creative" stuff for...several...years, but I'm being drawn back to it. Maybe it's vanity, but there's something very mentally satisfying about picking and choosing words. Rolling them around in my brain, over my tongue, onto the page. (Wow, that sounds a lot like vomiting....) But the snob in me doesn't want to write because everybody else writes. And I just want to write. I don't want people to pour over it and pick it apart. That's why I like having a journal. Nobody's going to say, "Uh, yeah, your thematic repetition in the 4th and 5th paragraphs was WAY overdone and it totally lost all effect." Nobody's going to wear berets and thick-rimmed glasses and drink hard liquor because that's what they're supposed to drink. (In my research today, I learned that carbon dioxide helps your blood absorb alcohol faster. "Girly drinks," my ass!) Maybe it's fear (my fear and I are like a sex-addict and porn, but I'm not sure which is which), maybe it's snobbery (learned the root of the word "snob"--basically it's somebody who wishes they were of noble birth), but I just find myself avoiding Writing With Intent To Publish. Or even Writing With Intent To Be Read.

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I wrote all the above yesterday, so I'd better go ahead and post it. I'm going to try to not drag entries out over several days. I get tired of them and they start to ferment. Plus, I have 80 billion windows opened anyway, and having Xjournal open as well doesn't help things.

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