Feeling the love.

This weekend, I was invited around to a family's house for dinner and to help them put up Christmas decorations. My friend and I went over in the afternoon and got all festive and put tinsel and baubles and lights and wreaths in almost every spot possible. The piano was played, carols were mauled and the special Disney carol-singing Mickey Mouse quickly had last year's batteries replaced. We stayed for dinner and were plied with wine and chu-hais and more food than I ever thought possible for a normal Sunday dinner.

This is the first time that I've been actively included by a family in Ono, and it's yet another reason to add to the list of why I'm thinking of staying. It's taken almost 18 months of trying to be involved and being a visible part of a small community to get to this point, and I don't think I'm ready to walk away from it yet.


We put fairy lights all through this tree and it looked pretty!

And I got to play the new Wii that Santa bought early to the Ao's house. Sidenote: it was really really cool. I'm the antithesis of a game nerd, case in point: my brother and sister, who are both mentally handicapped are better at Nintendo than I am. The whole package is sleek and it's really hard not to be sucked in by the whole speckiness of it all. It's good to see that finally, gaming companies are doing something about minimising the impact that sitting and playing games for hours on end has on rising obesity levels.


Another brand spanking new reason is that I think I may have just won my very first nenkyu battle and the right to use my unofficial time in lieu to travel instead of being made to use it to go home a few hours early. Biding my time and waiting 18 months before I've really needed to become the difficult ALT actually worked. I think I made everyone else's afternoon a little more interesting too, as it took two English teachers, Kyoto-sensei, about 4 phone calls to the office ladies, my refusal to accept an utterly infuriating explanation of 'but that's the Japanese way', all of which was conducted in the dead center of the staff-room, and it was almost all the other teachers could do to stop themselves from staring outright and trying to furtively listen to the outcome. Here's hoping they'll still talk to me at the bon-enkai...

Jittery

Note to self:
Proper coffee has more caffiene that regular instant muck that is at the back of the staffroom. Remember this.

Mindlessly eating chocolate covered coffee beans while watching Lost will result in an excess of caffiene and sugar surging through the bloodstream. Check.


This may go some way to explain why my heart feels like it's going to pound it's way through my ribcage, almost every word I type is having to be re-written due to copious spelling errors, loud noises and movement make me jump, I'm somewhat nervous and I'm currently unable to stay on track with anything.

Caffiene-induced ADD. Here's to making exam week a little less tedious and a little more addiction-fuelled strung-out.

Maintaining Madonna

I've recently started reading gossip columns on the internet in attempt to balance all the other serious (hah!) literature that I read at home. Well, I feel I should justify my insatiable need to know about has-been 90's star cataclysmic meltdowns and whether Britney's back with K-Fed somehow.

Amongst all of this crap which is doubtlessly taking up room in my brain which would otherwise be much better utilised for Japanese, this article about Madonna came up. It further re-inforces my views on the Confessions Tour - the woman no longer re-invents, she maintains.

Why am I so indecisive?

While posting when drunk is never a good idea, and I swear I'm not going to edit this in the morning, there's a certain amount of skewed introspecitive that's provided by an hour's solitary train ride, accompanied only by an i-pod full of music from Perth bands, amongst others, and a brain addled by ume-shu.

I was handed my re-contracting papers a few days ago, and as much as I overplay everything and be a complete drama queen and be capable of giving advice of what everyone else should do in "Amy's Perfect World", I really don't know what to do and it's completely tearing me up. So instead of writing something that I can't blame on the Hub's happy hour jumbo Long Island Iced Tea's, I'm going to leave you with this; my effort at cheering a friend up on a late Friday afternoon:


And with a flick of her sleek, glossy hair, she turned on her heels and strode out of the room, towards something, she was sure, that was better than the blandness that the day had provided so far.




Third year: crash and burn, or cut and run, or see out the opportunity that I'm unlikely to have ever again?

Do you have to? Really?

Can the man with the jackhammer drilling ditches on the tennis courts outside my house shut the fuck up already? It's 9am, it's raining and thank christ I'm not hungover.

the lights are off

while watching a storm come in over the mountains of Ono. Purple flashes of electricity, spears of white that blaze through the sky and arc to the ground. Counting the seconds after each flash until the thunder speaks to see how far away the storm is - like being on year 8 camp in Nanga Mill, but with more than a plastic hootchie overhead. The cracks of thunder which count closer and closer until both lightning and thunder are almost simultaneous get angrier, crisper and the sound ripples over the sky. Slowly, gradually, petulantly the rain begins to drop fat splashes on the tin roof until eventually it seems like all three elements of tonight's storm are in competition to be the brightest, loudest, most oppressive. Mostly the thunder wins and I retreat to my bed, to feel safe, cocooned in blankets, away from the fury outside.

When dealing with the devil

keep in mind that you may eventually want your soul back. If this happens to be the case, go here where you'll find one of the handiest How To's I've seen in a long time.

Oh, the things you find when looking for ideas for lessons...

Practising perserverance

For the past 3 weeks, I have been working on making my halo shine as brightly as possible. Either that or I'm making retribution for undisclosed heinous atrocities committed in another life. I'm not yet decided. I have been ever so patiently coaching students for the speech competition that was held in Akashi on the weekend.

I had three first year students in the recital competition, which involved them memorizing a passage about some kind of 'heart-warming' rubbish about courage or another one about the importance of the earth to Native Americans. One of the girls I was ready to strangle and nearly bit my tongue off in the attempt to not explode at the seventy gazillionth fuck-up of the pronunciation of 'the'. 'Za' is not 'the' and until Japan understands this and stops using katakana (the alphabet used for foreign, mainly western, words), they will not make progress in developing confidence in speaking English. Ooh dear, I think I'm ranting. Anyway, we finally had a breakthrough, 'za' was miracurously turned into 'the', and my sanity was preserved. It helped somewhat when the passage was actually explained to the girls and they were actually able to understand where the emotion in the passages comes from.

The two second year girls were easier and not nearly so frustrating to work with. They had to write their own speeches, so the understanding was already there, it was merely a matter of sorting out intonation (so more impossible than it sounds) and dodgy pronunciation. One girl wrote a emotive essay about her grandmother's wrinkled hands, and how they reflected her difficult life, while they other girl wrote a rather timely essay on Australia's water crisis.

Three weeks of not leaving school until 5.30, watching the wonderful autumn afternoon sunshine disappear into darkness, was not more fun than a barrel of Yakushima monkeys (and they are SO fun!). Using the apparently bottomless well of patience that I managed to dig out of god knows where was certainly a learning curve (cue teacher being taught cliches), but come Saturday, I was able to send the girls off with the ability to bluff total confidence, if nothing else.

Proof that I am a great teacher. The second year who may be the solution to Australia's water dilemma won the speech competition, and the other girl came third; one of the first years came third in the recital competition and the other two were happy with their performance. Excuse me while I go and buff my halo one more time.

Oh, and to my first piano teacher, Mrs Timoney, who coached me to many a Narrogin Eisteddfod First Place - you have the patience of a saint. Teaching a belligerent, lazy student with a modicum of talent who, unlike my students, did next to naff-all practise must have made you a millionaire at the karma bank.

Maybe this isn't for me.

11.30. writer's block.

If this was NaNoWriMo, I'd be fucked.

NaBloPoMo or Amy and Deadlines just don't mix

While I was mindlessly browsing the endless reams of the internet for the 67th time today, I stumbled across this little gem: NaBloPoMo. It's an alternative to the NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month. Instead of having to write a 50,000 word novel, NaBloPoMo merely requires you to post on your blog every day for the next 30 days. (Also means you can't write utter shite merely for the need of filling 50,000 words)

Marvellous, I thought. I can do that. Around rocks 10.30 at night, I realise that I haven't written anything for today, I want to go to bed, and once more I remember that one of the things I'm bad at is getting things done in time. I am Queen Procrastinator Extraordinaire.

However, I have managed to get a post up for today. They say it takes 21 days to break a habit...


And really people who invent these silly things, could you have picked a more bloody inconvenient name to have to type??

Does this mean I'm meant to be grown up now?

Milestones of life have never been something that I've been particularly motivated by. I've never had the ten year plan, I have absolutely no idea about how to go about the few career aspirations that I occasionally ponder, and I'm not concerned about babies and husbands.

Yet somehow, I've just made my first mortgage payment. Almost a decade of faffing about in cafes and periodically pretending to have a 'proper' job, living in cheap, crappy houses and refusing to move out of my parent's house has enabled me to save enough money to buy an apartment on Hay Street. Go looky!

I have city central apartment. I also have a mortgage. These words will be repeated many many times, until they become ingrained, because at the moment, Amy and mortgages aren't two things I ever thought I'd see put together for a very long time.

Look at me, all growing up now.

These things make me happy

I like waking up at 6am on a Monday morning, and knowing that I still have another hour to snuggle down and sleep some more.

I like even more hearing the sound of rain on a corrugated iron roof, pleased that it has been saved for a school day, and not for my weekend that was filled with beautiful sun-shiney autumn weather instead.





This photo is from a PICA exhibiton that I dropped into while meandering around Northbridge in August.

Why have I not heard of The Postal Service before?

Half a bottle of red wine down, and the interesting prospect of spending the entire weekend in Ono, due to this afternoon's purchase of a scooter and subsequent budget blow-out, I'm spending the night in.

All is not lost, however. I have just discovered the fabulousness of The Postal Service. I don't care how you get your hands on their music - borrow, steal or I'd even suggest buying it if there is no other option - but you really really have to listen to these guys. Upbeat, pace-y and tight, perfect for dragging yourself out of a downward slide into red wine melancholia.

If I were clever, well, not completely computer inept anyway, I'd post a link to their website. I'm not clever. Cut and paste: http://www.postalservicemusic.net/

A kindred spirit

I'm mired in the depths of post-exam hell at the moment. Several hundred exams to mark, all of which I've left until the last day - checking my emails for the gazillionth time somehow seems a little less frustrating.

But I've just come across this complete pearl in an essay about how to relax while studying.

'I suggest to you that you eat a chocolate bar. If you eat one, your brains will cheer up.'

If only she'd had the foresight to staple said choclate to the paper, and there would have been a perfect score straight up, grammar be damned.

Potty training

Today, on top of being Friday and almost the weekend, holds promise of being a fantastic day. I've made a new and important discovery, although it does make me feel slightly...um...dumb.

It's a discovery that I made early on when I was first in Japan, as I was exploring my school, but it seemed to disappear, never to be found again. I did look again, and again, I searched every floor of the school, but eventually put it down to either imagining it, dreaming about it or making it up after reading about secret rooms and things that disappear ala Harry Potter.

The new fabulous thing in my life? I have found the school's only western toilet.

This makes life just that little bit more pleasant. No more worries about peeing on the bottom of my trousers, no more holding it in because I just don't want to use a squatty, no more coldness on my exposed nether regions in winter.

Simple pleasures, my friends, simple pleasures. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to catch up on...

Confessions (not about my apparent inability to post regularly)

Madonna. 48 years old, but still one of THE hottest women on the planet. And all it takes is presence, attitude and a body that's been whittled and beaten into muscular perfection. Oh, and Guy Ritchie. And the ability to command a riding crop. A monogrammed riding crop no less - we would expect no less from the Material Girl.

The Confessions Tour is apparently the most profitable tour of any artist, ever. The Japanese shows in Tokyo and Osaka sold out in 5 minutes. 5 minutes!

2 hours of an audio-visual spectactular, quite unlike anything I've ever seen before. I've been to an awful lot of concerts and performances, but nothing quite came to the level of grandiosity, and budget too, I guess, of The Confessions Tour. Most of the songs were from the new album, Confessions From The Dance Floor, and while musically, none of Madonna's new stuff is even remotely pushing any boundaries, it certainly sounds amazing when pumped through speaker stacks three stories high. The mix was good, and she's not so over-produced so that you want to jam your fingers in your ears, she actually performs very very well. I will admit that I was surprised that she could sing as well as she does. I always thought that Madonna would be more visually based, but musically she stands in her own right too.

Which is not to say that visually, the show wasn't entertaining. It was impressive and combined with the music and the fact that I WAS ACTUALLY SEEING MADONNA LIVE, I had constant waves of goosebumps and mini fits as I tried to come to terms with someone who's music I've been listening to since I was about 10 (is it embarrassing that I just admitted that?). The costumes were ever-so-stylish, the dancers had amazing bodies and did amazing things with a scaffolding-type frame. Admittedly I was a little disappointed that she relied so heavily on the video presentation as opposed to just being an outrageous spectacle. There were three video intermissions where basically a video of a song was played while the back-up dancers provided live movement.

My only other criticism is the apparent need for almost all celebrities these days to push their political and social standing in a public arena. The much-criticised cruxifixition was almost a non-entity - it was intended as a powerful image against the video streaming of children living in poverty-stricken countries and the fact that 12 million children will be without parents. Combine this with the usual 'fuck Bush, Blair and Saddam' mentality, and a woman who is known for being intensely individualistic, merely becomes yet another media-whoring star who is jumping on the socially vocal bandwagon. Now before I'm accused of being completely insensitive, I'm all for activism, provided that it's done effectively and not like in Madonna's case, which seemed to be purely for appearances. I object to being made to feel guilty for my apparent wealth and freedom and privelege, as it's not something that I take for granted. As the cheapest ticket to Madonna was 140,000 yen (roughly $A150), and tour shirts were around 7000 yen, I'm not about to listen closely to someone preaching about excess. And isn't Madonna someone that we all associate with excess?



I would have loved to have seen Madonna ten years ago, probably during the Music tour, just after Erotica came out, before she was a mother, before she married Guy Ritchie, before she decided she'd try and appease British sensibilities, and I'm almost inclined to say, before she got old. Back when she didn't give a fuck, when she courted contreversy and loved to be hated, when she was edgy and dramatic and volatile. When sex sold, and Madonna wasn't just a business, but a convincing, influential artist as well.

Unhurried

The perfect weekend consists of a fine balance of doing just enough to stay entertained and little enough to feel indulgently lazy.

So for example say, cups of tea, tv, phone calls, walking in the sunshine, more cups of tea, reading, finding the perfect spot in the sun and delighting in being able to lie about, another cup of tea. Then not waking up the next morning with a hangover either.

Wash, rinse, repeat as desired.

Throw in the perfect pair of pink Asics for only 5000 yen, a comedy show that had pretend trannies, Wendy the Weathergirl, things you never want to hear in a beauticians and a tourette's sufferer in a dating show and THEN as we were walking through Shinsaibashi, two of the sweetest, most nonchalant, real sequined-up trannies on a Sunday evening and right there, you have the almost perfect weekend.

See It Now

I love watching movies by myself. There's an allowed space and time and stillness after that you can sit back and think, muse and digest what you've just seen, subconsiously filing away small parts to potentially be used again. No-one interupts and you're able to meander through with your thoughts undisturbed.

For me, the depth of what I retain comes mainly from the degree in which I'm able to be lost within a story. It's not often that I can be completely captivated for two hours and not notice the time going past. And unlike the numerous hours of my life that I have squandered watching America's Next Top Model (happily, vappidly, vacuously, mind you), I won't be wishing back the time I spent watching Crash.

For a movie that's merely about how people interact with one another and their preconcieved stereotypes, it's also surprising in how it's able to challenge the viewer's own stereotypes. It's voyeurisitc and captivating and leaves you questioning yourself for quite sometime after it's finished.

For me, the fact that it's moved me beyond my usual state of apathy, that I'm still thinking about it, makes me want to explore and question interesting things further. And that's what I liked about Crash.

Babelfish: Anti-Douglas Adams Style

"I thought but the thougt that the friend whom I would become helped was wrong somehow since I went... However, I cannot be able to just come back because I was at a loss"
Courtesy of class 2-8 who are a business English class (ie. they only study English that may be applicable in a business travel field - kind of a last resort language class).

Good grief. This is taken from the opening paragraph of essay number one. And on a quick flick through, it appears Babelfish or some other equally shite translator has mutilated previously understandable Japanese and turned it into the carnage above. Fantastic. Only another 39 to enjoy completely defacing with a tightly gripped red pen.

And the opening sentence of the next essay?
"Koshien of this summer was contiunation of an impression, too."

Babelfish. Responsible for intense gaijin frustration all over Japan.

Dancing on Sun Road

Occasionally, while walking through Ono, I encouter some ... peculiar... things. Such as the store called Dorkus, that sells massive beetles.

Tonight's little dose of What The Fuck comes courtesy of whoever decides that random elevator music is not good enough for the wretched citizens of Ono who may happen to be casually strolling down Sun Road, the covered shopping street. As I was coming home this evening, I was sans iPod, and happened to notice that not only was it western music, but it just happened to be the latest Scissor Sister's single I Don't Feel Like Dancing.

Rockstar awesome.

Summer. September. Time for sports day.

this isn't a recent post. It's been sitting in my 'to do' files...


When I first arrived in Japan, sports day was the beginning of the realization that Japanese schools are 'different'. Now, a year on, the similarites to every other high school are apparent. You just have to be prepared to look a little harder. Everyone's still enthusiastic, the smiles, the laughter is just as apparent. On my first sports day, I was horrified that the kids were having to spend so much time marching in the sun (admittedly summer is biding us a hasty farewell at moment, instead of hanging on for grim death like it did last year), but they seem to enjoy it, it's something for them to be proud of and present themselves as a single unit, as a representative of their school. Sure, it's a little different to the freedom that I was allowed as a student, but it doesn't mean that it's any less enjoyable for the kids that I was watching today.

The focus of the day seems to be more about the culmination of an awful lot of hard work and preparation and down to the minute, split second timing and arganisation. I shit you not, the program for today not only had obscure times like 10.47, but had the second times written as well.

There's still events like the running and relay races, and my god, those kids can run fast. There's the tug-of-war that seems a bit unfair to me as the ichi-nenseis (first years) have to compete against the ni-nenseis and san-nenseis, but still, despite the apparent inevitability of it all, they still give it everything they've got. Occasionally, like the first year girls today, they'll surprise themselves and overcome the size and strength disparities and be just as amazed as everyone else. The screaming and jumping around may well have depleted their new found wee muscles, as they were then convincingly thumped by the third years as though it was retribution for even daring to beat a year group older than them. En-masse jump rope - 20 kids in one large rope, all trying to jump as many times as possible, in a limited time.

The obstacle course was one of the funniest things I have seen in school yet. It involved sack racing, commando crawling through a tunnel of netting, two-legged skipping, leap frog and then, in pairs, having to make a giant tube of cardboard (imagine a mouse wheel) move for about 50 metres by doing summersaults. Poor little poppets were so dizzy when they finally got out of it, but most of them couldn't breathe for laughing so hard, so standing up straight wasn't really much of problem. Then we had the class dances, of which I was an esteemed judge, and is one of the most popular events of the day. Each home room class has about 1 minute to do quick dance that has a story and a conclusion and some point of wonder which typically each of the teachers used as their personal opportunity to show off. Topics ranged from The Pirates of the Carribean to Doraemon, a few Chinese interperative dances, a small buddha which sprouted water, and most disturbingly, one of the male teachers dressed as a cheerleader amd with his posse of boys also dressed as cheerleader, they proceeded to bump and grind to rapturous applause and wolf whistles. Creativity at it's finest...

So while I may ponder (ie. bitch and moan) whether or not I made the right decision about staying for another year, it will prove interesting to see what my take is on events and opinions as I'm able to observe them for the second time around.

My lungs are black.

The teacher who sits next to me has obviously just come back from a sneaky cigarette outside the school gates - he's sat down completely oblivious to the cartoon cloud that's currently assaulting the olfactories with a vicious right hook of anyone around him. Having just spent the previous week in Perth, often accompanied by either a glass of wine or a cigarette or quite regularly both, I've unconsciously found myself hoovering up the stench, while trying not to infringe upon the rigorous personal space boundaries that are bound in concrete over here and wishing that I wasn't such a conformist to Japan's sexist attitudes towards women who smoke.

Tomorrow, while I'm in Akashi, I think it's definitely time I went and bought myself a copy of Allan Carr's Easy Way To Stop Smoking.

Smiling on the inside.

Occasionally I notice I'm frowning for no apparent reason whatsoever and have to make a conscious effort to release my furrowed brow into what I hope comes across as approachable as opposed to looking just plain pissed off. Having recently been told that I should smile more (a backhanded compliment?), it concerns me - which makes me frown again - that are times when I'm looking annoyed unnecessarily and being completely oblivious of it, there's little I can do to fix this.
On the upside, I guess I'm not looking like some complete gimp with a slightly psychotic grin permanently plastered across my gob.

Star-crossed Lovers

nervous violent colours


The recent dash back to Perth was all for the wedding of my fabulous friends Amanda and Liam. Dash it was, as I was only in Perth for 10 days, most of which was spent on the back porch of their house drinking red wine and champagne, curled up on the cosiest pink couch on the face of the earth. (Let me tell you another time how many times my mother made snide remarks about the number of nights I spent at Palmerston St versus the nights I spent at home). In the past year that I've been in Japan, I've had the misfortune (or good timing, depending on which way you want to look at it) of missing the weddings and associtated hen's nights and other such frivolties of 3 friends from school, the birth of one baby, and the announcement of the impending births of another two babies. It takes a fair bit to prise me from Japan, and there's very few people that I would spend 40 hours total in transit for, so hopefully, I've managed to make my point that I think they're very special people.

It was a simple ceremony, held at the Wedding Registry in Westralia Square on St. George's Terrace. After a minor wardrobe mishap involving a strapless top and darting through the traffic in the rain, trying not to let straight hair get wet so that it would curl furiously (note: it was not the bride), the ceremony was quick, not unlike being processed as efficiently as possible. It felt a little sombre, which may have been more to do with the grey, rainy day and the windowless room, but was also helped by a lengthy period of the celebrant making sure that neither the bride nor the groom were currently married, and that they were aware that marriage is a legally binding agreement. Annie did manage to lighten the moment by announcing, when she handed over the wedding rings that she lived with them and that she was just like their kid, but she wasn't really, she was just a friend, and then finished it perfectly by blushing a stunning shade of red.
The reception was held at The Secret Garden in Murray Street, where we'd spent a good portion of the previous afternoon setting up and prepping food - well, I just faffed about, but I figure that by doing that, I saved everyone else the trouble of wasting their time. I'm good at faffing. The food was amazing, mainly because both Rizza and Amanda are brilliant, the wine was exactly what I'd been missing, and there was bottles and bottles of it (which we drank much quicker over the next few days than any of us expected) and we had the luxury of being able to lock the doors and come back the next day and clean up. Wonderfully relaxed and comfortable - like having a long, lazy lunch with fabulous friends - perfect.
I was unorganised and slack and I didn't get around to getting them a card or a present that I could write soppy sentiments in (but I flew back from Japan, so I figure the lack of a present was justified), so instead this wonderful public arena that's called the internet is going to suffice. Yes, I could just send them a card, but it's more fun this way.

So, dearest Amanda and Liam, these are the things that I wish for you to be able to offer the other:
challenges and intrigue; care and nurturing; trust and safety; strength and vulnerability; care and nourishment; dependency and space; flowers, sunshine and fast cars; spontenaity and serenity; solidarity and togetherness; love, laughter and a closeness that trancends all others.
You have all my love and hope for the future. You'll make fantastic, crazy faux-godparents.

We're not in Kansai anymore, Toto...

currently killing time in Singapore Airport... and one of the first things that struck me was that the men are really tall. And then I realised that they're probably not all that tall, I've been looking at men for the past year who are rarely taller than me. That's not very tall at all.
Now if only I had magic red shoes that I could click three times so I could skip this last leg of my journey.

Shades of Grey

Is anyone else struck by the apparent irony of holding such an environmentally significant conference, that culminated in the Kyoto Protocol, in a country like Japan; where if it weren't for sudden massive mountains, everywhere would most likely be hard grey concrete, holding onto hot hot heat, making a massive hothouse that hasn't had it's misters turned on for weeks (BTW, does anyone else happen to be picking lettuce leaves at Fresh Provisions, when they turn the misters on? Every Single Time?). Solid greyness as far as the eye could see and the only undulations to pierce the monotony would be the perfectly symmetrical skyscrapers and the dog boxes that are arguably called apartments. Or is it just me?
Perhaps it has less to with irony and more to do with the fact that I've just been on a bus travelling through Osaka - a city of every shade of grey imagineable - to the airport so I can flee the impermeable bubble of Japan and return to Australia, where, currently, even my greys will seem brighter.

going back vs going home

anxious

Main Entry: anxious
Part of Speech: adjective 1
Definition: worried
Synonyms: afraid, aghast, antsy*, apprehensive, basket case*, bugged*, butterflies, careful, choked*, clutched*, concerned, disquieted, distressed, disturbed, dreading, fearful, fidgety, fretful, hacked*, hyper*, in suspense*, jittery, jumpy, nervous, nervy, overwrought, restless, scared, shaking, shaky, shivery, shook up*, solicitous, spooked*, strung out*, sweating bullets*, taut, troubled, uneasy, unglued*, unquiet, uptight*, watchful, wired*, wired up, worried sick*, wrecked
Antonyms: assured, at ease, calm, cool, relaxed, unconcerned, unworried

Add to this a soundtrack of typically melancholy/angsty music a la Death Cab For Cutie, Beth Orton, Sarah Blasko and Something For Kate, nights that are memorable for the complete heat-induced void of sleep and the sensation of being slightly removed from everything going on around you, and you'll have some idea of how I'm feeling at this very present moment.
I'll be glad to get to Australia, regardless of the home or back war that's going on in my mind.

Inadvertent Duplicity

On getting up early and stumbling out to breakfast, we were confronted by Nate demanding random words for a game he was planning for the days lesson, the only requirement being that they had many letters, it wasn't expected that the students would understand the meaning. Words such as internationalisation (the brand-spanking new JET recruit, fresh from the brain washing of Tokyo Orientation), de-establishmentarianism (UWA boy - Arts/Philosophy degree) were being bandied about. I, however, opened my mouth without thinking, as per usual, and the first two words to leave my treacherous mouth were 'procrastination' and 'indecisive'. Raised eyebrows and sarcastic mutterings of incredible appropriateness, all before 8 am and coffee. Brutal.

Swimming through air

Japan is always so proud of its distinctive four seasons. Distinctive - definitely. Psychotically extreme - well, from an Australian point of view - let's just say Japan is being kind when it gives you roughly 4 weeks in between the two most vicious seasons of fucking hot and fucking cold.
For the last month or so, it's been unbelievably hot. The humidity is normally around 80 percent, and in Ono, the temperature generally peaks at about 38 to 40 degrees, which leads to a crippling dependence on air-conditioning. The nights are almost as bad, as it doesn't really cool down much, maybe 5 to 8 degrees. Sleeplessness is coupled with a general fug that blankets indiscriminantly, slows it down, in the vain attempt that you should not over-exert yourself, as exertion just leads to more sweat. Everything you touch stores heat. Your bed feels like you've left an electric blanket on for the past three months, and lying three inches from a fan does nothing to cool you, although it does provide enough white noise to block out the cicadas - another to add to the party of sleeplessness. Lying starfish and moving constantly lest you further warm parts of your bed, while the sweat leaks from every pore and refuses to evaporate does not promote a restful night.
Today it's not so hot. There's been typhoons hammering China and Okinawa, but they've not made it to this region of Japan. Typhoons, while somewhat unpleasant, do bring with them, one single day of blistering dry heat. The lead up is mugginess like I've never known before, and the day of rain seems never-ending, but the day after is crystal clear, fresh and renewed; the ever-present layer of smog and atmosphere is dissolved for a few hours. Just now, there's been a massive downpour and the smell is amazing. The air feels like it's almost solid and the smell of wet, rich earth just hangs in the hot dampness. The humidity, if were possible, seems like it should be over 120 percent. But the sky is open and blue and Ono is beginning to glow in the late afternoon light.

Why I Love Japan

... My incredible independence. Being able to walk through deserted streets by myself at 1 am and fuck about taking random photographs.

Why I despise Japan - my incredible singularity.

Why I love Japan - exceptionally cheap Tanqueray gin.

Why I despise Japan - Exceptionally expensive tonic. In itty-bitty cans that need to be recycled properly.

Iki ma sho

wee hee! now there's no excuse for not keeping up to date. if only I had more than ten seconds to write something more profound before I choof off to the gym... keeping in mind that this would be the perfect opportunity for some well placed procrastination.