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Controlled Falling [Started 11/6]

[Written in the train on the way to the doctor's office on Saturday]: When I was little, my father explained to me that walking is actually controlled falling. I've always liked that definition of it. Controlled falling. It also seems like an apt metaphor for life, but what isn't?

I don't know what made me remember that, but it seems like it'd be a good theme for a drawing. Dunno how to show the "controlled" part of it, though.... ::stumped::


Japan doesn't challenge me anymore. I don't feel myself growing. I feel like I'm reverting to my old self. All these old things come bubbling back up through the pipes. Things I had forgotten. Things I thought I was done with. If you aren't challenged, you being to stagnate.


No; I don't believe in evolution (I'm not optimistic enough to believe). I believe the circle is the perfect symbol for everything in this life. I used to hope that it was really a spiral viewed from the bottom, but it's not. Just a simple circle. Making the same mistakes, discovering the same things. I wrote a story once--well, I started a story--roughly 9 years ago about the concept of implanting babies with information so they wouldn't have to start at ground zero every time. So that humanity really could move forward. You spend all your life figuring things out, and then you die. Each death is the loss of a package of information. Information is not my god, but it is my flesh. And flesh is beautiful and yet tragically finite. I'd like to take Lain one step further and investigate the possibilities of the share and storage of information before life, as opposed to after death.


A concept occurred to me last week as I was walking up the stairs after buying lunch. Souls have been thought of as a spiritual "tag" that's affixed to each person. It's this thing that just happens to be attached to you. Some people think it's what gives you life, what makes you move and think and feel the way you do. I know from personal experience with mental illness that that isn't the case. I hate the thought, but I do believe that I am in large part a slave to my mind. Even these words are not being written by my soul. My soul is not in charge of my word choice and order.

But that's another thought entirely. What I meant to say was that it occurred to me that our souls may all be different. In fact, some of us may have more soul than others. One person's may be bigger or stronger than another's. I wonder if that's responsible for compassion, empathy. Or is that another device of the mind? Maybe it's really the ability of one person's soul to touch another's. At any rate, I think it's an interesting idea, the concept of the soul as a characteristic, not just this thing that everybody has. I always believed souls were identical and equal. But now I think that maybe they are not.


I've also determined that there can't be such a thing as heaven. Either that, or we cannot remain ourselves after we die. If we cannot agree on what we want earth to be, how can we all be happy in heaven? And even if only a select few get to go to heaven, who's to say that even such a small group will be able to agree on what heaven should be? If any Americans get to heaven, then there's no way it'll work. We're programmed from birth to complain about what we have and the people running it. God would go insane from listening to all the bickering.

And then would be subsequently voted off the island.

Does this make me a bad Xian? Nope. I'm open for ideas. And I think that's a good thing. I've been fed info all my life. Now it's time for me to sort and choose. And if, in the end, God decides I'm wrong, then I'm sorry it had to be that way. I'm sorry we couldn't get to know each other. Well, I'm sorry I couldn't get to know God.


Children: are you being loved, or are you being used?!


End of Days--at least, that's the Japanese title--was on TV the other night. What a stupid movie. I kept rolling my eyes until they hurt (or was that just my sinuses?) at everything that happened in the whole movie. Although Gabriel Byrne is the handsomest man in existence. ::smooblings:: Oh. Holy. Lord. I've been in love with him for years. Yeah, Seth Green floats my boat, but Gabriel Byrne sails it. ::happy drooling:: And Byrne dressed in black and red and acting as Satan? Oh, yeah. Oh. Yeah. ^_^

::ahem:: But back to the movie. Not only was the heroine one of those wimpy girls who can't do anything for themselves, I realized how all the theology in the movie was totally off. It was all based on these broad, generalized beliefs about God and demons and such. Lucifer was actually an angel. Not some nasty, slimy monster thing. He name meant "Morning Star," as I recall. (Just looked it up and it turns out the name comes from Latin and means "light-bringer." So says Mr. Webster. Dunno how much Latin Mr. Webster has studied, but I'll take his work for it.) He was the most beautiful celestial being in existence (Lucifer, not Mr. Webster). (That's why they were smart to make him take the form of Gabriel Byrne.) ^_~

But it was kinda cool that they had something resembling an Hieros Gamos ceremony in there, after having read about them in The DaVinci Code. I loved the philosophies and history and such in The DaVinci Code, but that's some of the worst writing I've seen in a long time. (Then again, I haven't read much in English in a while--'cept for Atlas Shrugged so it could just be that I'm out of touch.) And the story is kinda goofy, although it's definitely interesting and the chapters pass like water beneath your eyes. Liquid and smooth and gone. The chapters are deceptively short, so you end up saying, "Okay, one more chapter, then I'm really gonna go to bed this time." Eh. I'm almost done with the book. The riddles and the curiosity over what the answers are is what keeps the story going. But, holy lord, that guy needs to go back to writing school. Or something. Good researcher who's good at making you think, but the vessel is the problem.

And one of the main characters wears a sweater dress. I kid you not. Stab my mind's eye now, please.

It took me a while to get into the book, since it was so painful to read. But once you get going, it's all good. You start to forget the overdone descriptions and heavy-handed writing style. (How can I be a snob about writing when I myself do not write?) I shouldn't be a snob. It's destructive. (But you just don't know how bad it is!)

Okay, no more snobbery for me. [Not one to be a snob, anyway....] Like I told a friend recently: people feel bad about enough shit in their lives. Being a snob about something somebody else likes only makes them feel worse. (Thank you, Jaime, for opening my eyes to the glory that is Justin Timberlake. Well, okay, I only downloaded one song, but I'm trying to take people's likes and not judge. Just listen.)


It seems odd to me that you can use "see" as a command.


They had a free medical check-up available for KG employees this Friday. I went and spent the better part of 2 hours filling out forms and getting poked and prodded. Wonder when I'll get the results back. They're probably all bad. Although I'm sure my blood pressure is stellar, as always. It's always a good sign when the nurse says, "Uh, you don't have a pulse." Just hope that's always true (them saying it, not actually lacking a pulse).

Ran into Numata-sensei as I was parking my bike, which was good, since he was able to tell me where I needed to go and what to do. I didn't go for the health check last year because I had classes and couldn't make it. Also saw Dan and several teachers from the high school (seeing as how it was the day for high school employees to go).

That lady Miyadera-sensei and I went to the art exhibit with was there (they must have needed extra hands for all the people there). She took a rather large sample of my blood. I've never had anyone take out that much blood and have it not hurt at all. Slight prick when she pierced the skin, but none of that horrible aching you get when they're sucking stuff out or pouring stuff in. And only a very tiny, slightly green bruise the next day.

My heart completely freaked out on me in a very bad way as I was biking up to the 保険館. I haven't had it act up that badly since before having heart surgery. It kept flopping around and beating really strangely. It was kinda scary, seeing as how the surgery was supposed to have corrected that. I think some of the parts of my heart they destroyed have grown back since. Which means I might want to have heart surgery again. Which I'm hoping to avoid. (It's pretty miserable.) Pre-op is bad, but post-op is so much worse.

My heart wasn't doing much better when they laid me down behind a curtain and hooked me up to an EKG machine. Clamps on the ankles and wrists, suction electrodes along the sternum, bottom of the ribcage, under the arm (anything's better than adhesive).

Being allergic to adhesive blows. Band-aids just increase the surface area of any wound.

My heart wasn't just murmuring, it was flopping around quite a bit. Enough that I could feel it in my chest and throat. Like a white guy trying to rap in my chest (I love Eminem). Trying and trying and never getting off the ground.

The whole medical check was surreal. You just kept going to the next station. (At one point I ended up chin-skyward resting on a plate hands grasping metal bars standing on an elevated rubber-coated platform as X-rays were passed through my body for what was probably far too long in a windowed metal capsule. Keep those shoulders spread!) After you finished a floor, you went up to the next floor. I felt like I was in "The Wizard of Oz meets Super Mario Bros." On the 3rd and final floor, a lady administered a completely stupid hearing test (if you don't tell me what I'm listening for, I can't tell if I'm hearing it or not) and did a run-down of all the things I'd been through that day (you carry around your own folder and give it to the person in charge of each station). The lady at the 受付 counter had asked if I needed a form in English--to save myself the trouble of dealing with everything in Japanese (which I had to do for the most part anyway). I accepted the offer. So it was great to watch the hearing test lady look at all these things in English like she knew what she was reading. She looked very concerned and concentrated on each thing I had checked (they had a series of sentences on the back where you were to check the ones that applied to you). I'm sure she had the Japanese one there and was just comparing the number of each question, but it was fun to watch her pretend to know what was going on. She eventually said, "My, you checked a lot of these, didn't you?" and asked if I needed to speak with a doctor about them. I decided against it. The school health center is nothing if not flaky at best.


Colds consist of paper and water, since that's all you're surrounded by. Tea and tissues. [I'd put another alliterated example in here, but I can't think of any. "Sheets and soda" would be good, 'cept for the fact that these sheets aren't made of paper.] And all is most definitely white. Friday night I got in bed, turned out the lights, and felt my throat start to hurt. "Pleasepleaseplease don't become a cold!" I begged.

Apparently my throat does not have ears.

Was massively sick SaturdaySundayMonday.

Went to my regular appointment with Dr. Kokai on Saturday morning, red-eyed and sniffling to high heaven. I just love how these colds work. When you're alone, it's no problem, but as soon as you're in the middle of things with people around, the waterworks begin. And in Japan, it's considered beyond rude to blow your nose. So you sniff. And sniff and sniff and sniff. Oh, and you can't really dab at your nose, either. That's why they wear surgical masks here. To catch all their snot. (Okay, that's not totally true. But it does make you wonder.)

Turns out Dr. Kokai had an emergency with another patient, so I got stuck with some nice lady doctor who complimented me on my Japanese (but it was a real compliment, not one of those "socially required" ones). Forgot to say 失礼しました as I left the room, but I don't think it really mattered. Got my two-months' worth of drugs and headed back, sniffling all the way.

Sniffled all through ACTA. Bought several small things and two items I had to have delivered (delivery's only 500 yen, eep!): a real こたつ布団 and a plastic drawer set thingy that I don't know the name of in English, but it's called a ストーカー in Japanese.

Thought I was doing to die of suffocation on the way home (I had biked to ACTA). Never bike when you can't breathe. It's a really bad idea.

IM'd with several people, including Nimish. Told him about おかゆ, this nasty stuff they make you eat here when you're sick. It's the Japanese version of chicken noodle soup, but it's rice that's been cooked with waaaaay too much water and it's pretty awful. Like I told Nimish, it's the sort of thing that makes you even more sorry you're ill.

Nimish replied: "That might be a global constant: no matter where you are, 'home remedies' will taste like ass." ^_^

I expected a delivery guy at 4pm (the beginning of the time block I had asked for), but got a delivery girl at 5pm. Weird. It'd be normal in the States, but it's very weird here.

Moved my desk into the main room and cleaned off the dining table (it took forever because I couldn't breathe, but it just had to be done). I'm so happy I could wet myself with glee. (Not really.) Pictures will come later of my new UBER WORKSPACE!


Sunday I called the fam and Dad said I should rest all day. Which I did. I rested hard. I slept and slept and slept and had a little soup and read and slept and slept. Did nothing except try desperately to get over this cold before the work week started.


This weekend wasn't a total waste of my time, however. I did do A drawing. As in one. As in if I weren't busy being sick as sewage I would have been blissfully productive. Although I do have to give myself credit for moving furniture in spite of being as ill as I am.

S/he (haven't chosen the gender yet, but I'll probably leave that open-ended--you know how I am about such loathsome social fabrications) is the Chief of the Barbarians, a sect of naturalists (but they're even more naturalist than I am). Sebry finds them distasteful, but this particular character is friends with her and they share certain political interests. (Oooh, intrigue!)


( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
Nov. 9th, 2004 12:32 am (UTC)
You're definitely not out of touch. Da Vinci Code is the worst book I've ever attempted to read. I stopped after page 50. Barf. I fucking hate Dan Brown.
Nov. 9th, 2004 01:29 am (UTC)
LOL. You just have to get past the first 50 pages or so. He's a horrible writer, but I admire what he's trying to say.

Nov. 9th, 2004 10:32 pm (UTC)
Did I ever tell you you're brilliant? You are.

Nov. 9th, 2004 11:39 pm (UTC)
I have no clue what prompted that, but thank you for the lovely compliment! ::happyabby::

( 4 comments — Leave a comment )

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