A restless night trapped in a conscious sort of sleep where I involuntarily conjugated Japanese verbs for hours, making potential sentences, practicing conjuctions, and forming "Shall we" and "Would you like to" questions. Then I woke up, went to school and am now listening to the same crap all over again.
Sometimes I feel like I'm fifteen and working under the table at my first job, washing dishes in this dive of a restaurant in my hometown. I'd get home around midnight and go to sleep so that I could get up for school the next day and for the next two hours I'd dream about washing dishes. I finally had to quit. Then I started stocking shelves at the Super Duper grocery store in Mecca, the next town over, which wasn't much better. Then I dreamed of stacking soup cans and milk jugs. During college I waited tables at a country club for a year, and then I mainly dreamed about being stuck in the country club all night long, as if those rich people I served owned me.
Right now I feel like Japanese is owning me. Sometimes my head feels crowded and I would just like some space.
Also I love America even if stupid old Bush was elected President.
*misses everyone*
2 Comments:
Awww, sweetie, we miss you too. Wish you would be here for Thanksgiving.
I didn't know you waited at a country club; that was my first job. We must compare tuxedo-esque uniform notes.
I didn't know you waited at a country club either! haha. Yes, the tuxedo uniform. I have disliked tuxedoes ever since.
Wish I could be there for Thanksgiving too. The ovens here are the size of a computer printer. A home computer printer. You know, those computer printers that you can fit in a backpack. There's no way you can cook anything in these things. I'm not even sure why they install them in some apartments. Mine, of course, doesn't even have one. Baking is not a Japanese priority. And they don't care for turkey either. But they do like pumpkin pie and sweet potatoes in karo syrup.
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