I wish I lived in Nippon sometimes.
No, seriously, I do.
I mean, sure, they pack everyone into subways like sardines, and the Japanese are probably the most overworked people on this side of the globe, but I feel a connection with them.
With the Pocky, and the midnight glow of arcades that adults frequent, and the neon of the vertical signs of Tokyo.
I adore their fashion sense, their quirky habits, and their undying love for the weird. Their perfect, unmarred complexions, small stature, and petite frames.
Joe said that I could pass for Japanese if someone only looked at the back of my head.
I guess I just want to escape this existence, this unending boredom, the tedium of everyday life. I suppose that on the other side of the world on that tiny archipelago it's pretty boring as well. But just to experience something different. Something uniquely flavored.
I feel bland. The little kids I work with at camp have shown me this. When the best thing in the world is your Goku Dragonball Z figurine, and you can't wait to go home and catch up on some Yu-Gi-Oh! and Power Rangers.
All Japanese, by the way, no matter how bastardized by the American censors.
All my music feels old. I don't feel like listening to anything anymore. It's all muddled together. The only thing that I can stand is Dir en grey.
Japanese, again.
Did I mention that I'm learning hiragana? I'll move on to katakana and then kanji after that.
I bought a tower of books at the Liberary. Seven for $6. A steal. All hardcover and stuff too. I can't even lose myself in anything. I'm trying to read Margarettetown, and it's just falling flat.
I've noticed that I have quite possibly have the shortest attention span known to man. I barely ever finish video games, I stop mid-series in books because I forget what I read. I've noticed how much these entries jump around in circles, and how I never make sense.
This is disheartening.
Sayonara.
