I've been working at Rescomp (the division of campus IT services that takes care of the dorms) lately, pulling something like 10-12 hours/day regularly. It's not the greatest way to spend time, but overtime pay is great, so what the hell.
Life in Berkeley's gotten strange, strange like LA. On the one hand it's nice to have things which are out of the ordinary happen out here so I'm not left bored and listless, but at the same time it's kind of disturbing in that "man I hope this year will be at least somewhat drama free" way.
There isn't much to say now, because keeping busy has kept me from having anything close to useful thinking, but hopefully the walk to and from school/work every day will afford me more of an opportunity to partake in that mostly-useless-but-oh-so-fun past time.
What is it with engineering/goth types and the word "indeed"? I'll be having a perfectly normal conversation with one of them and they'll suddenly pop out with "indeed" as a response.
Damn is that one pompous sounding word.
The ideal number of sheets of toilet paper to use is four.
There exist some barbaric camps which are remnants of an old world which came when the Old World was still Trouble Up Ahead who suggest that the ideal number is three. What they fail to realize is that when you use three, you're only allowed room to comfortably wipe twice before it's time to discard the tissue before you risk participating in that elementary school ditty, "be a man, use your hand." Four sheets provides you with comfortable room to wipe three times, unless it's one of those days when you're sorely reminded of just how bad those McGrands, once Big Macs, really are. Five sheets is wasteful because you still only get enough to wipe thrice, but for those of you who find yourselves shying away from the risk and danger of potentially soiling yourself in a very non-accidental way, five sheets just might be the answer for you.
Without doubt, four sheets is the way to go.
It's two hours before crunch time at work and my mind is massively borked.
As a matter of fact, I am indeed back in LA.
But I'll be leaving for Berkeley this weekend.
Every now and then I get the silly notion into my head that I have an idea of where my life is going. For example, a few days ago I wrote an entry on how, by my estimates, I'd have $500-odd to pocket with me when I go home.
I was completely wrong.
As it turns out, I forgot to factor in money from work, and there were some miscalculations with rent, and other such less than pleasant things. So as it turns out, my fiscal matters have turned out something like this:
I have $310 in my wallet.
I have $600 lying on my desk.
I have $360 in my bank account still.
Good gravy was I off on my calculations o_O; Thankfully, it works out in my favor so WOOHOO~~~~~~~~~~~
So that's going to go towards gift/souvenir buying and...I'm not sure what. I imagine that after all the gift buying and whatnot I'll still have at least a few bills left (I just hope everything fits in my suitcase).
I rule! *raises fist of defiance*
Having written a few entries on the lighter side of things, it's time for something a bit more on the somber side.
I once had a friend who gave a lot of credit to fate for the things that happened in her life. Things "just happened" and were very "unfortunate." One of the things I've gained during my time here has been the realization that you're more empowered than you think. Allow me to illustrate, in my usual long-winded fashion.
When I first went to Berkeley, the distance from LA to San Francisco was an endless expanse of Roman plain. If I could see into the future, I would have put Brad Pitt running along it, blonde hair whipping in the wind as he's about to get stabby with it. As time's passed and I've come to where I am now, I can look back and realize what foolishness that was.
Flying from LA to SF costs little more than $30 and an hour on a plane. I sometimes end up spending more money and time on dinner than that. As I became used to the distance between here and there, the world drew smaller, and when I look at the distance between LA and SF now I see a walk to the airport; nothing more.
When I first came to Japan, the idea of being on the other side of the world and 6000 miles of ocean made LA seem very, very far away. But I've been back to the states once while here. I'm about to go back for a while. And as I've been thinking about the day when I go back to the states, it's dawned on me: it's not very far at all. I can get a round trip ticket for $700. It takes less than half a day to fly one way; just enough time for me to finish a good novel or two. Given how long my reading list is, I could certainly use the time off.
Going to Japan for a winter, spring, or summer break (why don't we have a fall break?) would be easy. Making $700 at work wouldn't even take a month, and I've at least three months between breaks to make that amount of money.
What I'm getting at is that leaving Japan now is by no means a permanent thing. The people I've seen here aren't people I'm never going to see again. Some people I know who've been here for the past year and have since gone home make it sound like they're never going to be able to go to Japan again, but all they have to do is buy a ticket, pack their bags, and head to the airport. Done.
The overarching theme to this is that you have the power to do what you want. People say that all the time, but I don't think I really, truly believed it until I came here. Pack a bag and put a couple dreams in my pocket and send me off. I belong at once nowhere and everywhere; the world is my playground.
Of course, there are limitations on everything. Some things you just can't do. No amount of flapping your arms while you're naked will make you fly. Lacking a visa is going to make it a good deal harder to get into a country. But technical details aside, you're a much freer creature than you think.
Don't be afraid to break free from the prison you've constructed for yourself.
As of about...3 hours 10 minutes ago, I have exactly one week left on Japanese soil. I'm (still) in the midst of doing a bunch of work, so there'll be time later for writing thoughts and other such reflective nonsense that everyone skips over because it's uninteresting (but I'm going to write it anyways).
What this means for you:
I'm going to be spending some time this week buying stuff to take back for people. BUT! I have no idea what in the world you crazy people want because, well, you're crazy. So here's how it works. If you're reading this, I presumably at least know you, and hopefully you're on good standing with me (e.g. if you ate my children whilst I've been away you are not on good standing with me). If you meet those two requirements, you can do one of two things:
1) Be a pair of big brave balls and leave a comment letting me know what you want.
2) Realize that the only kind of pussy here is the kind that would make you wish you were born a woman, and contact me some other way (IM, email, phone, flying out here to party the last few days away, etc.)
All requests are of course subject to all manners of limitations and stipulations. If you pick something really expensive, I'm probably not going to buy it. If you pick somethign really weird, I'm probably going to buy it. If it's something really weird and really expensive, I'm probably going to buy it for me and tell you to piss off.
If you've asked for something before, I've probably forgotten about it and you'll have to remind me. Unless you're my old roommate Louise; I still remember that one.
Oh, and "A subservient Japanese woman to fulfill my every need" is off limits. Sorry kiddos.