(no subject)
I didn't know you were funny now.
What makes you say that?
You were never funny before.
If I had to relate all of my life experiences to sound effects, nothing has ever ended with a bang for me. If I were to look back from birth to approximately five minutes ago wearing onomatopoetic glasses, most every dizzying height or fatalistic happening I've been associated with has come to a close with more of a fizzle, or a quiet hiss, or perhaps I could get away with so much as a squelch. A squelch is sort of sudden, although usually you can tell when one is ripe to happen, like when it's been raining for days on end and you're walking in the middle of a giant mud field covered with half dead toads lying belly up.
What I'm saying is that most episodes in my life resemble a decrescendo. They start out big, wide-eyed and optimistic, and eventually just cinch away into a piece of my history. Sometimes things end so quietly I don't even realize they've been over until quite some time after the fact. Even a few days ago I woke up thinking I still lived in Toronto, it was hell.
Which is why what's happening right now is so special. For the first time I can remember, I'm ending on a high note. It's like I'm a stand-up comedian who just told some hilarious gut-busting joke, and while everyone in the audience is pissing themselves laughing, I whip out a machine gun and kill the shit out of them. That's right, I'm so unaccustomed to ending big that I can't think of anything to relate it to except mass comedic slaying.
In other words, I'm quitting my job and moving to Tokyo. I don't have any particular reason to go other than wanting to, and I'm actually quite good at my job. But still, I just don't see me getting anything more out of a second year in Kumamoto than I already have over the past 11 months. I don't want to let what's been a really terrific year go to mediocrity by running it into the ground trying to drain every last bit of significance out of it. I've done that to death so many times with relationships, work experiences, volunteer commitments--just ugh. It's so easy to stay in a situation just because you're already there, because the conventional thing to do is stay, because it's common sense to stay indoors when you're not sure if it's raining outside.
But not this time! This time I'm alloting myself six weeks to sell off two-thirds of my belongings, get out of my apartment lease, help my office find a replacement, and apply for paralegal translation positions in the largest metropolitan center on Earth! Convention be damned, I have itches that need scratching!
What makes you say that?
You were never funny before.
If I had to relate all of my life experiences to sound effects, nothing has ever ended with a bang for me. If I were to look back from birth to approximately five minutes ago wearing onomatopoetic glasses, most every dizzying height or fatalistic happening I've been associated with has come to a close with more of a fizzle, or a quiet hiss, or perhaps I could get away with so much as a squelch. A squelch is sort of sudden, although usually you can tell when one is ripe to happen, like when it's been raining for days on end and you're walking in the middle of a giant mud field covered with half dead toads lying belly up.
What I'm saying is that most episodes in my life resemble a decrescendo. They start out big, wide-eyed and optimistic, and eventually just cinch away into a piece of my history. Sometimes things end so quietly I don't even realize they've been over until quite some time after the fact. Even a few days ago I woke up thinking I still lived in Toronto, it was hell.
Which is why what's happening right now is so special. For the first time I can remember, I'm ending on a high note. It's like I'm a stand-up comedian who just told some hilarious gut-busting joke, and while everyone in the audience is pissing themselves laughing, I whip out a machine gun and kill the shit out of them. That's right, I'm so unaccustomed to ending big that I can't think of anything to relate it to except mass comedic slaying.
In other words, I'm quitting my job and moving to Tokyo. I don't have any particular reason to go other than wanting to, and I'm actually quite good at my job. But still, I just don't see me getting anything more out of a second year in Kumamoto than I already have over the past 11 months. I don't want to let what's been a really terrific year go to mediocrity by running it into the ground trying to drain every last bit of significance out of it. I've done that to death so many times with relationships, work experiences, volunteer commitments--just ugh. It's so easy to stay in a situation just because you're already there, because the conventional thing to do is stay, because it's common sense to stay indoors when you're not sure if it's raining outside.
But not this time! This time I'm alloting myself six weeks to sell off two-thirds of my belongings, get out of my apartment lease, help my office find a replacement, and apply for paralegal translation positions in the largest metropolitan center on Earth! Convention be damned, I have itches that need scratching!