Shall I begin at the end, and end at the beginning? Or shall I start at the beginning and end at the end... Nah, let's start somewhere in the middle, coz it makes the most sense that way.
As some of you already know I had a place at a Speed Dating event last Saturday. The event was supposed to start at 6pm and last to 8:30pm; I, together with 14 other women, was supposed to meet 15 men who I could chat to for 5 mins each. After each "date" we would fill in a score card, which the event organisers would collect, and if there was a match -- voila! We have a chance at romance. Sounds simple enough, right?
Not quite.
About three weeks ago I was invited out to lunch by one of my colleagues who I have been bouldering with, together with other work associates, on Wednesday nights after work. After the second time that we had lunch together, by which time he knew about my upcoming Speed Date, he asked me out to dinner and drinks. Tame enough, I know him, not threatening, and a chance of good companionship and a good conversation over dinner. Totally harmless, right? So I accepted.
Dinner took place on Friday night; I chose the restaurant, an Italian place not far from our office, because I know the owner well. We had a wonderful dinner, followed by drinks (non-alcoholic for me) in a small bar where we were given a small corner table away from all the other customers. Very cozy corner indeed. As the night grew into the early morning we decided to call it an evening: he took me to the nearest taxi queue and we said goodbye to each other... is what I would really love to write but here's what really happened: I went over to give him a hug to say thank you for the evening, but instead I ended up being held in his arms, lost in the moment, suspended in motion like the dense particles in a Barium meal. I do not know how long I was there in his arms, but as we slowly broke off I turned my head to kiss his cheek... but that was not happening. It just felt more natural as I watched his lips for a breath or two, and we ended up kissing quite passionately for a while. Then the spell was broken, and it was time for me to get into my cab.
I went home that night feeling confused, flustered, and excited.
Saturday, the day of the Speed Date, was a hectic day: Yoga at 8:00am, hair appointment at 11:00 am, followed by lunch, and getting ready for the evening's "pièce de résistance" -- Speed Dating. (Oh, and after that I was going to meet the girls to give them a ho-down of all the nitty gritty details about this fascinating event.)
By quarter to Five I was fully made up, and ready to go, but I knew I had at least 30mins to spare, so I decided to take a small nap considering that I had slept only 3 hours the night before. I set my alarm, put some music on, rested my head on my cushions, and laid down on my comfy sofa...
I never made it to the Speed Dating event, for I slept right through my alarm, my music, my friends calling me... I was off in a dreamy world where there was no need for me to rush thru and psychoanalise 15 men in 75 minutes to see if they were worthy of a second encounter. I did not have to tick off a score card to rate the men that I just interviewed for a position as my boyfriend/lover. None of that shite. Nope. I just slept right thru everything.
In the end I called up all my girlfriends and told them that I slept thru the Speed Date: their conclusion was that there was a good reason WHY I slept thru i.e. I would have been disappointed by the scum and creeps that showed up, so I ended up having a girls's night out at a small bistro. In retrospect, I am more inclined to believe that I fell asleep that Saturday because there really was no need for me to go on a Speed Date. I had already met a nice candidate more than two months ago; it's just taken me *this long* to realise that he was always there to hold me, and to make me feel special. Fuck the Speed Date! I'll just stick to people that really care about me, and see beyond my appearances to share my life with.
So there.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Losing Control
One of the reasons that I have chosen solitude over pursuing a relationship in the past was my inherent fear of losing control of my emotions. It's all too easy to sit in front of the phone, or the PC waiting for that call/email to enter your life; but then there is a split moment when you realise that you shouldn't spend 20mins in front of inanimate objects that may, or may not, deliver messages from people who are on your mind for a large portion of your day. I perceive it as I wasted and lost 20mins of my precious life, and I have nothing to show for it apart from the feeling of shame and foolishness for acting the same way I did as a 14 year old.
So who's email am I waiting for? I'm not entirely sure yet....
The difficulty in letting someone into your life when you are a depressed bulimic with an alcohol problem is that the other party inevitably finds it hard to handle your mood swings, your relapses, your sudden need for total solitude, and, of course, your lifestyle/habits when it comes to food. What does one say on their first date when they have been invited to an expensive restaurant that serves a set course? Or how does one explain the "pill case" that contains 3 or 4 different types of medication that you have to take after every meal? What if you start to see each other more seriously? How do you hide the fact that you are not getting any better, nor do you have the capacity to recover? It's easy for a diabetic to explain their medical condition to their partners, but for some reason there is still a stigma attached to those of us who have a "psychological condition" that is caused by/causes a chemical imbalance in the brain. My condition, just as with diabetes, manifested as a result of both environmental and genetic factors, but why is it that I still live in fear of being exposed?
It's the nature of my condition: it's the nature of me.
Have you ever experienced the feeling of anxiety when you tell a lie to your loved ones, knowing that they may find out one day that you were not entirely honest? Have you ever felt the fear of losing yourself, your identity, as you uncontrollably surrender your entire ethos over to a person that you so dearly love and care about? Have you ever been consumed by your own feeling of inadequacy, the sensation of being a dark cloud, a burden to someone you care that you forcefully withdraw yourself for the sake of protecting the person you care so much?
I was once told by someone that I was intimate with a long time ago, that being with me was like tip-toeing around broken glass; extra care had to be taken not to stand on the glass lest there be more damage done, and also to stop oneself from being cut by one of the sharp, dispersed fragments.
Today, years have past, I am still a piece of a broken glass, I still make people who are close to me tip-toe around me, and I am still waiting for that phone call/email from a stranger who may, or may not enter my life. I already miss and long for that which I do not have -- or will never have. And inevitably, to avoid pain from disappointment, abandonment, and a broken heart I become a recluse who communicates only with their inner voice...
Slowly but surely, I am losing control. I am losing control of both my mind, and my heart. And this time, not even my sobriety is going to get me out of my own madness.
So who's email am I waiting for? I'm not entirely sure yet....
The difficulty in letting someone into your life when you are a depressed bulimic with an alcohol problem is that the other party inevitably finds it hard to handle your mood swings, your relapses, your sudden need for total solitude, and, of course, your lifestyle/habits when it comes to food. What does one say on their first date when they have been invited to an expensive restaurant that serves a set course? Or how does one explain the "pill case" that contains 3 or 4 different types of medication that you have to take after every meal? What if you start to see each other more seriously? How do you hide the fact that you are not getting any better, nor do you have the capacity to recover? It's easy for a diabetic to explain their medical condition to their partners, but for some reason there is still a stigma attached to those of us who have a "psychological condition" that is caused by/causes a chemical imbalance in the brain. My condition, just as with diabetes, manifested as a result of both environmental and genetic factors, but why is it that I still live in fear of being exposed?
It's the nature of my condition: it's the nature of me.
Have you ever experienced the feeling of anxiety when you tell a lie to your loved ones, knowing that they may find out one day that you were not entirely honest? Have you ever felt the fear of losing yourself, your identity, as you uncontrollably surrender your entire ethos over to a person that you so dearly love and care about? Have you ever been consumed by your own feeling of inadequacy, the sensation of being a dark cloud, a burden to someone you care that you forcefully withdraw yourself for the sake of protecting the person you care so much?
I was once told by someone that I was intimate with a long time ago, that being with me was like tip-toeing around broken glass; extra care had to be taken not to stand on the glass lest there be more damage done, and also to stop oneself from being cut by one of the sharp, dispersed fragments.
Today, years have past, I am still a piece of a broken glass, I still make people who are close to me tip-toe around me, and I am still waiting for that phone call/email from a stranger who may, or may not enter my life. I already miss and long for that which I do not have -- or will never have. And inevitably, to avoid pain from disappointment, abandonment, and a broken heart I become a recluse who communicates only with their inner voice...
Slowly but surely, I am losing control. I am losing control of both my mind, and my heart. And this time, not even my sobriety is going to get me out of my own madness.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Antacid
The planet let out a burp today not too far from where I live. The belch originated from near the surface of the earth's crust, somewhere in the pacific ocean about 300km from my office. I know that 300km does not sound near at all, but in terms of the earth's linear distance? It's about as close to me as the next cubicle.
*Burp*
Recently, we've been experiencing a large number of earthquakes in the Kanto region of Eastern Japan. There was one about 2 weeks ago: things fell from shelves; the airports were closed for nearly 4 hours; and the residents of Tokyo were left thinking:"When's the next Big One?", for the Kanto plains have experienced large, devastating earthquakes that come in a 70year cycle for centuries. The last one was in 1923, which means that we are now 12 years overdue.
Our building was shaking for a good 5 mins, and the creeking sound went on for another 10. Most people stood by their desks wondering if it was going to get worse, or better, and I suppose out of fear all looked at each other for some form of moral support.
Me? I headed for the door which has a lock that operates on an electromagnet; if we lose power during the quake, we would all be stuck in the engine room of this building for a very long time, and I was not prepared to drink stale Evian that I use to water my plants, or eat my stash of dusty gummy-bears given to me by a colleague long before they realised that I do not like to eat sweets. I was going to open the door, and keep it that way till the tremour subsided.
"DWR. Why are you at the door?" was the response of the CIO's PA when she saw me standing at the door.
"Escape route."
"Oh, you are soooooo calm!"
Little does she know that I too was trembling inside, for I did not want to die in a building with strangers away from my family and cats. I wanted to live. I still do...
*Burp*
Recently, we've been experiencing a large number of earthquakes in the Kanto region of Eastern Japan. There was one about 2 weeks ago: things fell from shelves; the airports were closed for nearly 4 hours; and the residents of Tokyo were left thinking:"When's the next Big One?", for the Kanto plains have experienced large, devastating earthquakes that come in a 70year cycle for centuries. The last one was in 1923, which means that we are now 12 years overdue.
Our building was shaking for a good 5 mins, and the creeking sound went on for another 10. Most people stood by their desks wondering if it was going to get worse, or better, and I suppose out of fear all looked at each other for some form of moral support.
Me? I headed for the door which has a lock that operates on an electromagnet; if we lose power during the quake, we would all be stuck in the engine room of this building for a very long time, and I was not prepared to drink stale Evian that I use to water my plants, or eat my stash of dusty gummy-bears given to me by a colleague long before they realised that I do not like to eat sweets. I was going to open the door, and keep it that way till the tremour subsided.
"DWR. Why are you at the door?" was the response of the CIO's PA when she saw me standing at the door.
"Escape route."
"Oh, you are soooooo calm!"
Little does she know that I too was trembling inside, for I did not want to die in a building with strangers away from my family and cats. I wanted to live. I still do...
**************************************************
A cherished alcoholic friend of mine once told me that whenever he drank bad liquor, he would get wind. The solution that he had for his embarassing condition was to take chewable Antacid. After today's little scare, all I can say is that I hope the planet has enuf stash of Antacid to last another 70+ years (i.e. long after I am dead and gone) without beltching on my turf.
*Burrrrrp*
*Burrrrrp*
Things You Notice When You Are Sober
I know that I am only into Day 3 of being sober after my relapse, but already I am beginning to notice things from before, during, and after my relapse. First of all, I am behaving in a strange manner. What do I mean by strange behaviour? Well, let me explain.
I'm a creature of extremes: I'm an introvert, and an extrovert; one moment I am stuck in a semi-routine where I don't even have to look at my diary to tell you what I will be doing 3 weeks from now at 10am, and the next moment, I whimsically call up a friend to ask if they are available for lunch at 11:45am. Its the same with my writing: there are moments when I walk around town with my digital camera taking photos, looking externally for things that I can write about, and there are moments like this when I just blabber on about what is going on internally with my life. Being in a constant state of imbalance has become a normal part of my life -- it's all, or nothing. Switch on, Switch off.
But things have been slightly different for the past few days. First I can only guess what I will be doing next week on tuesday at 7:30pm; I will have to look at my outlook meetings just to check, for I am not really sure if I will be seeing my counselor, going bouldering, doing Yoga, starting my Salsa class, going to a jazz concert, taking up pottery classes, or meeting friends for dinner. I may not even HAVE anything planned that day -- I'm just not sure. I need to check. My whims are also not as extreme these days: I actually emailed my friend to make lunch arrangements for thursday - YESTERDAY!! I am planning my whims ahead on a monday afternoon. And I can't remember if I have my digital camera with me today... what is going on?
Oh, and I have something "external" to talk about today. Here it is:
VJ Day, and The Fascist Shrine.
Yesterday, August 15th, was not only my DWF, Y's Birthday, but also was the day that Japan surrendered unconditionally ending what is known as WWII in our history books. War criminals were rounded up, classified according to the level of their crimes against humanity, tried, convicted/acquitted according to "International Law" (the trial was overseen by the victors of the war, as with any other war related justice and post war reparation.) and that should have put at least an end to all the horrible pain that the people of Asia and Japan suffered for decades so that we could all move on and try to forgive each other for what had happened.
But not quite. Some bright soul decided to enshrine all the "War Dead", including those that were executed as Class A war criminals, in a very controversial shrine -- Yasukuni Shrine -- which makes not a martyr out of the war dead, but revered spiritual entities that are looked upon in the same light as God, or Jesus is in any Christian society. In short, the instigators of the murdering of 19million Chinese, 2million Malaysians, millions of Koreans, and hundreds of thousands of Allied troops are resting in peace, getting manicures, pedicures, facials, AND are worshipped in a beautiful, leafy, green area in central Tokyo alongside those who died during the bombings of Tokyo, the allied landings in Okinawa, and the atom bombings on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
If I died as a civilian as the American troops landed in Okinawa, I would not want to lie next to the men who were the reason why the troops came to invade and torch my home.
Yesterday marked 60 years after the war ended, and we still have right-wing extremist groups operating under the cover of NPOs, and "oppressed minority groups". They congregated outside Yasukuni Shrine (as usual) surrounded by armoured police vehicles, should there be clashes between the imperialists and the general apathetic populous of Japan. Why do I think there is apathy amongst my people? Simple. My colleague and I walked past the shrine yesterday and the topic of Class A war criminals came up. The term Class A War Criminal in Japanese is phonetically the same as Eternal War Criminal. My friend, a gentle person, could not understand why the West had tried and convicted men of war crimes till Eternity.
"Sounds like Dante's Divine Comedy to me -- I mean, banishing someone to eternity for crimes against humanity? I can understand why the families of these men want to let go of the past, I mean it's been 60 years."
"Umm... wrong interpretation -- the word is not Eternal War Criminal, but Class A War Criminal. It means that what they did was pretty nasty compared to a Class C War Criminal."
What *DO* they teach in Japan about modern history! And this dude has a post-grad in international relations! Oh woe is me, for we are doomed. Doomed. Doomed. Doomed....
(Post Script: Yasukuni Shrine still enjoys nearly 1500 hacking attempts per hour every day -- mostly by Chinese hackers, apparently. I don't know who takes the stats and releases it, but it does nothing to boost our relations with our neighbours that we have occupied/annexed between 1905 and 1945. It also does not help that history, however dark and unpleasant it may be is not conveyed to the younger generations who have known only peace during their lifetime. I am one of those fortunate people who have lived in peaceful times; I see war, famine, hate crimes, and all the ugliness that we are capable of doing, but only through a safe distance from the TV screen, or the morning newspaper delivered to my letter box. And for any Japanese person reading this post, Eikyu Sennpan is not a War Criminal banished to Purgatory for Eternity, or something, but a Class A War Criminal, a name given to those have committed the highest, and nastiest crime against the human race.)
I'm a creature of extremes: I'm an introvert, and an extrovert; one moment I am stuck in a semi-routine where I don't even have to look at my diary to tell you what I will be doing 3 weeks from now at 10am, and the next moment, I whimsically call up a friend to ask if they are available for lunch at 11:45am. Its the same with my writing: there are moments when I walk around town with my digital camera taking photos, looking externally for things that I can write about, and there are moments like this when I just blabber on about what is going on internally with my life. Being in a constant state of imbalance has become a normal part of my life -- it's all, or nothing. Switch on, Switch off.
But things have been slightly different for the past few days. First I can only guess what I will be doing next week on tuesday at 7:30pm; I will have to look at my outlook meetings just to check, for I am not really sure if I will be seeing my counselor, going bouldering, doing Yoga, starting my Salsa class, going to a jazz concert, taking up pottery classes, or meeting friends for dinner. I may not even HAVE anything planned that day -- I'm just not sure. I need to check. My whims are also not as extreme these days: I actually emailed my friend to make lunch arrangements for thursday - YESTERDAY!! I am planning my whims ahead on a monday afternoon. And I can't remember if I have my digital camera with me today... what is going on?
Oh, and I have something "external" to talk about today. Here it is:
VJ Day, and The Fascist Shrine.
Yesterday, August 15th, was not only my DWF, Y's Birthday, but also was the day that Japan surrendered unconditionally ending what is known as WWII in our history books. War criminals were rounded up, classified according to the level of their crimes against humanity, tried, convicted/acquitted according to "International Law" (the trial was overseen by the victors of the war, as with any other war related justice and post war reparation.) and that should have put at least an end to all the horrible pain that the people of Asia and Japan suffered for decades so that we could all move on and try to forgive each other for what had happened.
But not quite. Some bright soul decided to enshrine all the "War Dead", including those that were executed as Class A war criminals, in a very controversial shrine -- Yasukuni Shrine -- which makes not a martyr out of the war dead, but revered spiritual entities that are looked upon in the same light as God, or Jesus is in any Christian society. In short, the instigators of the murdering of 19million Chinese, 2million Malaysians, millions of Koreans, and hundreds of thousands of Allied troops are resting in peace, getting manicures, pedicures, facials, AND are worshipped in a beautiful, leafy, green area in central Tokyo alongside those who died during the bombings of Tokyo, the allied landings in Okinawa, and the atom bombings on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
If I died as a civilian as the American troops landed in Okinawa, I would not want to lie next to the men who were the reason why the troops came to invade and torch my home.
Yesterday marked 60 years after the war ended, and we still have right-wing extremist groups operating under the cover of NPOs, and "oppressed minority groups". They congregated outside Yasukuni Shrine (as usual) surrounded by armoured police vehicles, should there be clashes between the imperialists and the general apathetic populous of Japan. Why do I think there is apathy amongst my people? Simple. My colleague and I walked past the shrine yesterday and the topic of Class A war criminals came up. The term Class A War Criminal in Japanese is phonetically the same as Eternal War Criminal. My friend, a gentle person, could not understand why the West had tried and convicted men of war crimes till Eternity.
"Sounds like Dante's Divine Comedy to me -- I mean, banishing someone to eternity for crimes against humanity? I can understand why the families of these men want to let go of the past, I mean it's been 60 years."
"Umm... wrong interpretation -- the word is not Eternal War Criminal, but Class A War Criminal. It means that what they did was pretty nasty compared to a Class C War Criminal."
What *DO* they teach in Japan about modern history! And this dude has a post-grad in international relations! Oh woe is me, for we are doomed. Doomed. Doomed. Doomed....
(Post Script: Yasukuni Shrine still enjoys nearly 1500 hacking attempts per hour every day -- mostly by Chinese hackers, apparently. I don't know who takes the stats and releases it, but it does nothing to boost our relations with our neighbours that we have occupied/annexed between 1905 and 1945. It also does not help that history, however dark and unpleasant it may be is not conveyed to the younger generations who have known only peace during their lifetime. I am one of those fortunate people who have lived in peaceful times; I see war, famine, hate crimes, and all the ugliness that we are capable of doing, but only through a safe distance from the TV screen, or the morning newspaper delivered to my letter box. And for any Japanese person reading this post, Eikyu Sennpan is not a War Criminal banished to Purgatory for Eternity, or something, but a Class A War Criminal, a name given to those have committed the highest, and nastiest crime against the human race.)
Monday, August 15, 2005
Relapse...
It happened on Day 20 of my "sobriety". I was still in the process of moving houses; I had my sofa, my coffee table, my comfy bed, my fridge, my kitchen utensils... basically all items that you find in a normal home with a "permanent" resident.
Except the TV, the Stereo, and the cats.
Yes, I had to spend 2 whole nerve-wrecking days in my house, alone, with no sound but my inner voice telling me that if I didn't *do* something about this situation, I am going to walk straight over to the nearest convenience store to buy some hooch and order 3 large pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese. They tell you in self-help groups to call someone -- ANYONE -- when I have these cravings, and indeed I *did* call someone... the really slow dude who took my order at Domino's Pizza.
"Umm... did you say you wanted 3 large pizzas, umm... we have a special, I think, ummm, like, ummm, if you order 1 large pizza you get one free, do you want to take that, and order 2 so you get four pizzas, or do you want to order separately, and not, ummm, like go for the special. Umm, we also have a special if you order 2 medium pizzas, you get one drink for free, umm, we have, ummm, coke, diet coke, umm, sprite, and fanta... ummm..."
"UMMM... why don't you just calculate the cheapest way that I can, UMMM, purchase 3 large pizzas? I don't need a salad, and I don't need any more soft drinks, OK?"
"Umm.. hang on..."
(Fuck, what's this dude been smoking/drinking/snorting? He sounds more fucked up than I am right now! And I'M SOBER!")
"Ok, how about calculating the price of two large pizzas and delivering me three. Remember? Buy one, get one free?"
"Oh, sure, that'll work. Umm... That will be...."
(Imbecile!)
I knew that it was going to take at least 29mins before my pizza arrived so I dashed over to the nearest Seven Eleven and stood for a moment in front of the Pearly Gates of Alcoholic Heaven: The Booze Wall.
Ahhh....
Starting from the left hand side of the refrigeration unit was the "Less than 7% Alcohol in Volume" drinks which I don't really pay much attention to coz I always found it an inefficient way of getting drunk. Start on 14% plus, and work your way upwards; hard, fast, and no messing about (shit, sounds almost like my approach to dating in Tokyo!). But something guided my eyes towards the lower end of the booze spectrum, and my attention was fixed on a bottle of sweet apple cidre that contained 4% alcohol in volume.
Yup. That's what I will have coz I'm not really relapsing, right? Sure, there's some alcohol in it, but I bet I breathe in more ethanol vapour when I take the Chunder Trains late at night where nearly 80% of those sharing the carriage have been drinking heavily. If I stick to this all night, I will be fine, I won't get drunk, just one or two drinks while I polish the pizzas...
And that's what happened on saturday night. I sat there and drank nearly 10 bottles of this "light-weight" stuff that kept me awake till 4am. By 1am boredom once again took over so I decided to do a bit of DIY and put together my new bed frame, table, shelves, AV counter, and funky lighting. I'm not sure how the neighbours would have taken the power drill going off at unholy hours on a weekend, but I really didn't give a shit, coz I live in a semi-detached house. I have only one neighbour, and she is going to be moving out by the end of this month; plus she looked as is she needed a bit of "drilling" and some "power tool action" herself (not that I'm getting much action either, but at least I have a sleek Black & Decker), but really, nothing was going to take away my moment of happiness that I got thru my "light booze" and my house in semi-order.
Well, actually, there was one thing that took away all of that: the hangover the following day.
(I can't believe that 4% alcohol in volume can induce a fucking HANGOVER! What's going on?! I'm a bloody lightweight!!)
And now... today, I am into Day 2 of my re-attempt at sobriety.
Except the TV, the Stereo, and the cats.
Yes, I had to spend 2 whole nerve-wrecking days in my house, alone, with no sound but my inner voice telling me that if I didn't *do* something about this situation, I am going to walk straight over to the nearest convenience store to buy some hooch and order 3 large pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese. They tell you in self-help groups to call someone -- ANYONE -- when I have these cravings, and indeed I *did* call someone... the really slow dude who took my order at Domino's Pizza.
"Umm... did you say you wanted 3 large pizzas, umm... we have a special, I think, ummm, like, ummm, if you order 1 large pizza you get one free, do you want to take that, and order 2 so you get four pizzas, or do you want to order separately, and not, ummm, like go for the special. Umm, we also have a special if you order 2 medium pizzas, you get one drink for free, umm, we have, ummm, coke, diet coke, umm, sprite, and fanta... ummm..."
"UMMM... why don't you just calculate the cheapest way that I can, UMMM, purchase 3 large pizzas? I don't need a salad, and I don't need any more soft drinks, OK?"
"Umm.. hang on..."
(Fuck, what's this dude been smoking/drinking/snorting? He sounds more fucked up than I am right now! And I'M SOBER!")
"Ok, how about calculating the price of two large pizzas and delivering me three. Remember? Buy one, get one free?"
"Oh, sure, that'll work. Umm... That will be...."
(Imbecile!)
I knew that it was going to take at least 29mins before my pizza arrived so I dashed over to the nearest Seven Eleven and stood for a moment in front of the Pearly Gates of Alcoholic Heaven: The Booze Wall.
Ahhh....
Starting from the left hand side of the refrigeration unit was the "Less than 7% Alcohol in Volume" drinks which I don't really pay much attention to coz I always found it an inefficient way of getting drunk. Start on 14% plus, and work your way upwards; hard, fast, and no messing about (shit, sounds almost like my approach to dating in Tokyo!). But something guided my eyes towards the lower end of the booze spectrum, and my attention was fixed on a bottle of sweet apple cidre that contained 4% alcohol in volume.
Yup. That's what I will have coz I'm not really relapsing, right? Sure, there's some alcohol in it, but I bet I breathe in more ethanol vapour when I take the Chunder Trains late at night where nearly 80% of those sharing the carriage have been drinking heavily. If I stick to this all night, I will be fine, I won't get drunk, just one or two drinks while I polish the pizzas...
And that's what happened on saturday night. I sat there and drank nearly 10 bottles of this "light-weight" stuff that kept me awake till 4am. By 1am boredom once again took over so I decided to do a bit of DIY and put together my new bed frame, table, shelves, AV counter, and funky lighting. I'm not sure how the neighbours would have taken the power drill going off at unholy hours on a weekend, but I really didn't give a shit, coz I live in a semi-detached house. I have only one neighbour, and she is going to be moving out by the end of this month; plus she looked as is she needed a bit of "drilling" and some "power tool action" herself (not that I'm getting much action either, but at least I have a sleek Black & Decker), but really, nothing was going to take away my moment of happiness that I got thru my "light booze" and my house in semi-order.
Well, actually, there was one thing that took away all of that: the hangover the following day.
(I can't believe that 4% alcohol in volume can induce a fucking HANGOVER! What's going on?! I'm a bloody lightweight!!)
And now... today, I am into Day 2 of my re-attempt at sobriety.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Sugar And Spice And All Things Nice
Ok, I fess up. I have been sober now for 18days (I think...). This is my umpteenth attempt at giving up alcohol -- the last time I gave up I did a reasonably good job and stayed sober for 6 months during which time I took up trekking, trail running, Yoga, and bouldering.... This all happened months before I started this blog.
Then one day I reset my life back to the very familiar Drunken Wench, and I cannot remember too many sober days ever since. Which is fine to a certain point, or at least it is fine by me coz I still have many sober moments -- especially when I am writing -- and the rest of the time I am enjoying the odd drink/bottle or two with my friends, and my inner voice.
Anyway, back to sugar and spice and all things nice, which is the title of this post.
Sobriety (I had to look this one up in the dictionary coz it's THAT unfamiliar a word to me) has its pros and cons. For starters off I no longer wake up/regain consciousness in the middle of the night hugging an empty Pizza Hut box not knowing 1) where it came from 2) who paid for it 3) who ate it. I do not call cabs in the middle of the night to take me to the 24hr Korean BBQ restaurant where I would consume anything from 4000 to 5000Kcal of meat, noodles, rice, desert, etc. along with another bottle of distilled liquor. I would of course puke it all up once I felt full, and then order some more (I know, it's so decadent and "Imperial Roman" to behave this way, but I just can't seem to stop it) I once even had one of the waiters wake me up at 5:30am because I had passed out at the table and it was nearly the end of his shift. (Funny, I know! I can laugh in retrospect -- oh, hang on, I was laughing at the time too.)
The other side of the coin of being sober is that I am constantly craving for sugary foods; food that my brain 15 years ago created a lovely synaptic shortcut to the "fight, freight, and flight" department of my midbrain. In short, sugar equals DANGER, KEEP THE FUCK AWAY in my mind. There is no way in hell that I am going to pick up those sweets that have been collecting dust, or going stale, in my office desk just so that I can get a sugar-rush to substitute the calming feeling of that "first drink" after a stressful day at the office. No fucking way.
The other thing I have an issue with is trying to explain to people who are very familiar with my impressive drinking habits that I am ordering "Perrier" or "Cranberry Juice" when I am out.
"Umm...Did you knock your head, DWR? You mean Diet Coke with Rum, Vodka, Whiskey, and a twist of lime, right?"
"No, I want a Perrier."
"Riiiiiggghhht." (whispers amongst themselves) Is she OK? Maybe it's that thing with Nick still affecting her. Better let her be for now. She'll soon get over him. She'll be back on the MoJo's.
No. I am going to be a Drunken Wench without any ethanol in my bloodstream. How about that for a change? Yup, I am going to spice up my life with soft drinks from now on.
(Gawd that sounds so booooorrrrrriiiiiinnnng. How am I to cope!)
Am I going to miss all the fun things in life coz I don't drink? Am I going to find new, and interesting things that would radically change my life? Maybe, maybe not. But for now, I will just settle for a substitue for my sugar craving, something non-alcoholic to spice up my drinking cabinet, and anything -- just even one thing -- that is nice.
(Post script: Please note, unless you have a high tolerance for alcohol I would not recommend downing a pitcher of MoJo in one session by yourself. It is sooooo delicious and easy to drink that you can just pack a pint, or two, in less than an hour. The results? You start to hallucinate; it feels like you have just drunk 3 bottles of Robitussin together with 1/2 bottle of scotch. "Money Back Guaranteed!". I know. I've been down those tracks before... Great recipe tho'.)
Then one day I reset my life back to the very familiar Drunken Wench, and I cannot remember too many sober days ever since. Which is fine to a certain point, or at least it is fine by me coz I still have many sober moments -- especially when I am writing -- and the rest of the time I am enjoying the odd drink/bottle or two with my friends, and my inner voice.
Anyway, back to sugar and spice and all things nice, which is the title of this post.
Sobriety (I had to look this one up in the dictionary coz it's THAT unfamiliar a word to me) has its pros and cons. For starters off I no longer wake up/regain consciousness in the middle of the night hugging an empty Pizza Hut box not knowing 1) where it came from 2) who paid for it 3) who ate it. I do not call cabs in the middle of the night to take me to the 24hr Korean BBQ restaurant where I would consume anything from 4000 to 5000Kcal of meat, noodles, rice, desert, etc. along with another bottle of distilled liquor. I would of course puke it all up once I felt full, and then order some more (I know, it's so decadent and "Imperial Roman" to behave this way, but I just can't seem to stop it) I once even had one of the waiters wake me up at 5:30am because I had passed out at the table and it was nearly the end of his shift. (Funny, I know! I can laugh in retrospect -- oh, hang on, I was laughing at the time too.)
The other side of the coin of being sober is that I am constantly craving for sugary foods; food that my brain 15 years ago created a lovely synaptic shortcut to the "fight, freight, and flight" department of my midbrain. In short, sugar equals DANGER, KEEP THE FUCK AWAY in my mind. There is no way in hell that I am going to pick up those sweets that have been collecting dust, or going stale, in my office desk just so that I can get a sugar-rush to substitute the calming feeling of that "first drink" after a stressful day at the office. No fucking way.
The other thing I have an issue with is trying to explain to people who are very familiar with my impressive drinking habits that I am ordering "Perrier" or "Cranberry Juice" when I am out.
"Umm...Did you knock your head, DWR? You mean Diet Coke with Rum, Vodka, Whiskey, and a twist of lime, right?"
"No, I want a Perrier."
"Riiiiiggghhht." (whispers amongst themselves) Is she OK? Maybe it's that thing with Nick still affecting her. Better let her be for now. She'll soon get over him. She'll be back on the MoJo's.
No. I am going to be a Drunken Wench without any ethanol in my bloodstream. How about that for a change? Yup, I am going to spice up my life with soft drinks from now on.
(Gawd that sounds so booooorrrrrriiiiiinnnng. How am I to cope!)
Am I going to miss all the fun things in life coz I don't drink? Am I going to find new, and interesting things that would radically change my life? Maybe, maybe not. But for now, I will just settle for a substitue for my sugar craving, something non-alcoholic to spice up my drinking cabinet, and anything -- just even one thing -- that is nice.
(Post script: Please note, unless you have a high tolerance for alcohol I would not recommend downing a pitcher of MoJo in one session by yourself. It is sooooo delicious and easy to drink that you can just pack a pint, or two, in less than an hour. The results? You start to hallucinate; it feels like you have just drunk 3 bottles of Robitussin together with 1/2 bottle of scotch. "Money Back Guaranteed!". I know. I've been down those tracks before... Great recipe tho'.)
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Waste of Time (Part 2)
My new Counselor, Ana, asked me in my first session: "So, how would you like our sessions to be structured? And what do you aim to get out of these counseling sessions?"
"I want to understand the root of my depression so that I can be happy..." (why is she asking me silly questions?)
I explained to her that with Dana I would sit and talk thru a specific topic and she would listen to me as she noted some of the things that I said. She would often ask me why I felt a specific emotion, or why I reacted to a certain situation, and she would always help me to help myself. That was how things were with Dana, and that was how I wanted my sessions with Ana to be. After my third session with Ana I noticed something different. She was *telling* me how to help myself, not encourage me to find the answers thru my own thought processes, or to work thru my own feelings at my own pace.
"You react to stressful situations because you cannot separate the emotion and the rationale. You are driven by your emotions. I can help you with this, there is a wonderful tool, and it works. It's basically taking an inventory of all the situations and things people say that upset you, and write down the emotion associated with it, followed by how you should rationalise these feelings so that you do not react."
Hang on. I've heard this tune before... it's one of those "Shrink Tools". She might as well give me a meditation tape to help me sleep, or a self hypnosis video to stop me from "binge'n'purge". But I made so much progress with Dana; I am determined to continue with my treatment, even tho' it sounds like a load of crap. I have to give it a try, at least. Otherwise I will spend the next 15 years on anti-depressants, laxatives, sleeping pills, and the works. I will be lonely again in my shell -- protected from the outside world, but with no doors to let anyone into my life.
Yesterday I started on my little assignment that Ana gave me. In one column I wrote down situations/things people say that piss me off, or upset me, in another I would write down the emotion I felt, and finally the column for how to "rationalise" this feeling. I started off writing in the first two columns, but when I came to the final one, my mind went blank. I could not find a way to rationalise how I felt or reacted. I was stuck.
Instead of spending hours and hours trying to rationalise my first emotion, I just continued to write down the external factor (stuff that piss me off), followed by my internal factors (how I react to a negative factor). This exercise continued for nearly 6 pages, by which time I was in floods of tears. Why? All I am doing is writing down all the shite that piss me off, all the unhappy memories, all the pain from the past with absolutely no answers to them. This exercise is nothing more than opening old wounds that have started to heal; there is no puss in these wounds, there are no lost shrapnel, or splinters here that need to be removed. They just need to be left alone. And the tears? The tears are from the painful memories that are attached to my deepest emotions. Why do I have to relive these painful memories? Why do I have to go thru all of the pain again? I feel like a rape victim who is explaining in detail how she was assaulted in front of strangers in her court case. And to make me feel even more shite is the fact that I cannot fill in the last column.
The rationalisation.
All I see is 6 pages worth of pain. Six pages worth of anger and despair that I feel towards myself for not being equipped to complete a simple task like separating my emotion from my mind. I have always been a fairly rational person; I'm very cool headed and detached in stressful situations. I can usually control my emotions to deliver my message across to people in a non-confrontational manner, but yet, I have a woman telling me that I am ill equipped in this area, and the proof that she may be right is sitting right in front of me.
Six pages worth of a blank column that I cannot fill... six pages of tear stained, emptiness that has eaten away at my heart for nearly half my life. Maybe that's why I am driven to be a drunken wench, who just rambles on about everything, and nothing, for this is the only tool that I have to be able to cope with the world that surrounds me.
(to be continued...)
Nah, you know what? Fuck that, I need a drink.
"I want to understand the root of my depression so that I can be happy..." (why is she asking me silly questions?)
I explained to her that with Dana I would sit and talk thru a specific topic and she would listen to me as she noted some of the things that I said. She would often ask me why I felt a specific emotion, or why I reacted to a certain situation, and she would always help me to help myself. That was how things were with Dana, and that was how I wanted my sessions with Ana to be. After my third session with Ana I noticed something different. She was *telling* me how to help myself, not encourage me to find the answers thru my own thought processes, or to work thru my own feelings at my own pace.
"You react to stressful situations because you cannot separate the emotion and the rationale. You are driven by your emotions. I can help you with this, there is a wonderful tool, and it works. It's basically taking an inventory of all the situations and things people say that upset you, and write down the emotion associated with it, followed by how you should rationalise these feelings so that you do not react."
Hang on. I've heard this tune before... it's one of those "Shrink Tools". She might as well give me a meditation tape to help me sleep, or a self hypnosis video to stop me from "binge'n'purge". But I made so much progress with Dana; I am determined to continue with my treatment, even tho' it sounds like a load of crap. I have to give it a try, at least. Otherwise I will spend the next 15 years on anti-depressants, laxatives, sleeping pills, and the works. I will be lonely again in my shell -- protected from the outside world, but with no doors to let anyone into my life.
Yesterday I started on my little assignment that Ana gave me. In one column I wrote down situations/things people say that piss me off, or upset me, in another I would write down the emotion I felt, and finally the column for how to "rationalise" this feeling. I started off writing in the first two columns, but when I came to the final one, my mind went blank. I could not find a way to rationalise how I felt or reacted. I was stuck.
Instead of spending hours and hours trying to rationalise my first emotion, I just continued to write down the external factor (stuff that piss me off), followed by my internal factors (how I react to a negative factor). This exercise continued for nearly 6 pages, by which time I was in floods of tears. Why? All I am doing is writing down all the shite that piss me off, all the unhappy memories, all the pain from the past with absolutely no answers to them. This exercise is nothing more than opening old wounds that have started to heal; there is no puss in these wounds, there are no lost shrapnel, or splinters here that need to be removed. They just need to be left alone. And the tears? The tears are from the painful memories that are attached to my deepest emotions. Why do I have to relive these painful memories? Why do I have to go thru all of the pain again? I feel like a rape victim who is explaining in detail how she was assaulted in front of strangers in her court case. And to make me feel even more shite is the fact that I cannot fill in the last column.
The rationalisation.
All I see is 6 pages worth of pain. Six pages worth of anger and despair that I feel towards myself for not being equipped to complete a simple task like separating my emotion from my mind. I have always been a fairly rational person; I'm very cool headed and detached in stressful situations. I can usually control my emotions to deliver my message across to people in a non-confrontational manner, but yet, I have a woman telling me that I am ill equipped in this area, and the proof that she may be right is sitting right in front of me.
Six pages worth of a blank column that I cannot fill... six pages of tear stained, emptiness that has eaten away at my heart for nearly half my life. Maybe that's why I am driven to be a drunken wench, who just rambles on about everything, and nothing, for this is the only tool that I have to be able to cope with the world that surrounds me.
(to be continued...)
Nah, you know what? Fuck that, I need a drink.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Waste of Time (Part 1)
For many years I have resisted going to counseling to treat my chronic depression and my eating disorder. I was first told to go to counseling at 17 when I had already developed Bulimia Nervosa, an eating disorder, which I have been living with now for 15 years. (Shit, that is half my life!) I just saw no point to it; I was diagnosed with "mild" melancholy, and they never even detected that I had behavioural problems with my eating habits. How can someone who "under-diagnosed" me send me off for the "right treatment"? How can my problems be solved by a complete stranger who knows fuck all about me, when *I* -- who knows me the best, and most -- can't change anything? All the shrink tools, meditation exercises, and big hugs in the world were not going to make the pain go away. "Just give me the pills so that I can function, get my grades, and get the fuck out of this miserable situation that I am in." was all that I would say in my sessions with my first shrink.
The second time I went into counseling was when I was at University; my doctor refused to give me my Prozac unless I went to see a counselor. If anyone who is thinking of being a psychiatric nurse, or a clinical psychologist, or going into a profession dealing with people who have some form of neurosis is reading this, well, this is one of the worst things you can do to one of your patients -- make threats to remove their happy pills, coz they are NOT going to cooperate. I used to go to my counseling sessions, sit down, ask what time it was, and sat there in silence for the entire session. I knew that what was "discussed" between me and my counselor stayed between us, unless they thought I was a threat to myself so I took full advantage of the "patient confidentiality" thing. I got the happy pills, in exchange of wasting 1hr of my time sitting opposite a complete stranger who just sat there and waited for me to "open up" to him.
I've had a few other shrinks that I have been seeing, some of whom recommended taking personality tests, ink blot tests, changed my medication, combined "alternative" therapy, etc. Whichever way, none of this was working.
Until I met Dana.
Dana has been my counselor for over a year now. I actually feel that I have made a lot of progress in her sessions; I don't know why I decided that I wanted to continue going to see her, but in Dana I felt that maybe I can get over all of my issues because she was the first one to make me feel like I could help myself. Not have someone else solve my issues. Unfortunately, Dana has now stopped seeing any patients, because she is on maternal leave. She adopted a little baby who needs full time attention.
Which left me back to where I started.
Luckily my doctor understands that I need all the happy pills to helps me to get thru the day and continues to write the prescriptions without any threats, and Dana has introduced me to a new, English speaking counselor. My new counselor is also a woman, but for some reason, she reminds me of why I resisted counseling all those years ago...
(to be continued)
The second time I went into counseling was when I was at University; my doctor refused to give me my Prozac unless I went to see a counselor. If anyone who is thinking of being a psychiatric nurse, or a clinical psychologist, or going into a profession dealing with people who have some form of neurosis is reading this, well, this is one of the worst things you can do to one of your patients -- make threats to remove their happy pills, coz they are NOT going to cooperate. I used to go to my counseling sessions, sit down, ask what time it was, and sat there in silence for the entire session. I knew that what was "discussed" between me and my counselor stayed between us, unless they thought I was a threat to myself so I took full advantage of the "patient confidentiality" thing. I got the happy pills, in exchange of wasting 1hr of my time sitting opposite a complete stranger who just sat there and waited for me to "open up" to him.
I've had a few other shrinks that I have been seeing, some of whom recommended taking personality tests, ink blot tests, changed my medication, combined "alternative" therapy, etc. Whichever way, none of this was working.
Until I met Dana.
Dana has been my counselor for over a year now. I actually feel that I have made a lot of progress in her sessions; I don't know why I decided that I wanted to continue going to see her, but in Dana I felt that maybe I can get over all of my issues because she was the first one to make me feel like I could help myself. Not have someone else solve my issues. Unfortunately, Dana has now stopped seeing any patients, because she is on maternal leave. She adopted a little baby who needs full time attention.
Which left me back to where I started.
Luckily my doctor understands that I need all the happy pills to helps me to get thru the day and continues to write the prescriptions without any threats, and Dana has introduced me to a new, English speaking counselor. My new counselor is also a woman, but for some reason, she reminds me of why I resisted counseling all those years ago...
(to be continued)
Friday, August 05, 2005
What Next?!
(I am doomed. Fucking doomed....)
D-Day Minus 3: For some strange reason I have a HUGE headache today so I went down to the "First Aid" room and slept for 2hrs while it subsided. I love working for this company! There's an infirmary where I can take a nap during the day if I am feeling sick. UUUUGGGGHHH. I *do* wish this headache, and tired feeling goes away soon coz I can't take pain killers unless it's an opioid. NSAIDs trigger my asthma; and why the FUCK can't I get codeine in this country...
D-Day Minus 2: I noticed a nasty, rash on my back tonight, which I didn't think much of considering that I am allergic to a lot of food. The buggers are itchy and slightly painful. It's probably that Caesar salad at TGIFs that I ate -- it must have been laced with some funky chemical that has caused this ugly skin condition. I took my usual dose of antihistamines and steroid cream, and I am now snug in bed feeling a bit bummed off that I have yet ANOTHER rash. Fuck, when was the last time I had one of these? 3, 4 months ago? Oh yeah, it was just before I went off to the US for a month. Why on earth does humanity put industrial chemicals in my food to make it "look" and "taste" like Caesar salad sauce? Try making it with NATURAL ingredients, not something that comes out of a conical flask!
D-Day Minus 1: Oh shit! There are BLISTERS on the rash today, AND they have spread from my back to my breasts!!! FUCK!!! How can it get worse!! And the burning sensation -- FUCK -- my back feels like I have just sat in the Sahara sunbathing in my string bikini! This is not Kosher, I need to see a dermatologist tomorrow morning, because I could have leprosy or something, and will have to be in quarantine for months!!! What will I do if they put me away with other people with weeping, pussy welts covering their bodies. No one will hug me anymore, no one will touch me anymore, no one will even come close to me...
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!
D Day: I ran to the nearest large hospital which just so happens to be only 4 mins walk from my house. I handed my medical insurance card and asked to see a dermatologist. The receptionist made me sit outside Room 2 which was located in a relatively dark corner near the lifts that lead to the inpatient wards. (Maybe they have a special ward for lepers like me!). I was the third person to be called up by the doctor who listened carefully to my symptoms and asked me to show him my nasty rash.
"Herpes."
"'Scuse me? Like, as in VD?" (I know it sounds silly to have a sexually transmitted disease on one's back, but that was all that came to my mind at the time.)
"No, No. Herpes Zoster. Did you have chicken pox as a child? It's the same virus. You have Shingles."
"What? Like what old people get?"
"Well, yes, it is more common in the elderly population, but young people can get them too. But, oooooh, yours is pretty bad. How long have you left it in this condition?"
"Two days."
"Hmmm... I would usually recommend a topical treatment, but this time I think I will prescribe some anti-viral medication. It will take about 2 months to heal; I will give you 7 days of medication, so please come back next week."
"What causes it?"
"Oh, the causes are unknown, some say it's stress, others say that you are genetically prone to redevelop chicken pox, some even say that it's just bad luck."
"Riiiiiggght."
The doctor put some cream on my back and asked how I felt. I was in too much pain to tell him that of course I was feeling like shit with funky blisters across my back and my breasts, but I decided not to considering that he was kind enough to explain my condition carefully, and professionally. It's summer time, it's bikini season, it's time to expose my skin and get a nice suntan... but no. This year there will be no pretty bras, no massages, no beach parties, no intensive yoga, it will be just me waiting for the autumn so that I don't feel out of place wearing long sleeves and thick clothing that covers my erect nipples.
D-Day Minus 3: For some strange reason I have a HUGE headache today so I went down to the "First Aid" room and slept for 2hrs while it subsided. I love working for this company! There's an infirmary where I can take a nap during the day if I am feeling sick. UUUUGGGGHHH. I *do* wish this headache, and tired feeling goes away soon coz I can't take pain killers unless it's an opioid. NSAIDs trigger my asthma; and why the FUCK can't I get codeine in this country...
D-Day Minus 2: I noticed a nasty, rash on my back tonight, which I didn't think much of considering that I am allergic to a lot of food. The buggers are itchy and slightly painful. It's probably that Caesar salad at TGIFs that I ate -- it must have been laced with some funky chemical that has caused this ugly skin condition. I took my usual dose of antihistamines and steroid cream, and I am now snug in bed feeling a bit bummed off that I have yet ANOTHER rash. Fuck, when was the last time I had one of these? 3, 4 months ago? Oh yeah, it was just before I went off to the US for a month. Why on earth does humanity put industrial chemicals in my food to make it "look" and "taste" like Caesar salad sauce? Try making it with NATURAL ingredients, not something that comes out of a conical flask!
D-Day Minus 1: Oh shit! There are BLISTERS on the rash today, AND they have spread from my back to my breasts!!! FUCK!!! How can it get worse!! And the burning sensation -- FUCK -- my back feels like I have just sat in the Sahara sunbathing in my string bikini! This is not Kosher, I need to see a dermatologist tomorrow morning, because I could have leprosy or something, and will have to be in quarantine for months!!! What will I do if they put me away with other people with weeping, pussy welts covering their bodies. No one will hug me anymore, no one will touch me anymore, no one will even come close to me...
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!
D Day: I ran to the nearest large hospital which just so happens to be only 4 mins walk from my house. I handed my medical insurance card and asked to see a dermatologist. The receptionist made me sit outside Room 2 which was located in a relatively dark corner near the lifts that lead to the inpatient wards. (Maybe they have a special ward for lepers like me!). I was the third person to be called up by the doctor who listened carefully to my symptoms and asked me to show him my nasty rash.
"Herpes."
"'Scuse me? Like, as in VD?" (I know it sounds silly to have a sexually transmitted disease on one's back, but that was all that came to my mind at the time.)
"No, No. Herpes Zoster. Did you have chicken pox as a child? It's the same virus. You have Shingles."
"What? Like what old people get?"
"Well, yes, it is more common in the elderly population, but young people can get them too. But, oooooh, yours is pretty bad. How long have you left it in this condition?"
"Two days."
"Hmmm... I would usually recommend a topical treatment, but this time I think I will prescribe some anti-viral medication. It will take about 2 months to heal; I will give you 7 days of medication, so please come back next week."
"What causes it?"
"Oh, the causes are unknown, some say it's stress, others say that you are genetically prone to redevelop chicken pox, some even say that it's just bad luck."
"Riiiiiggght."
The doctor put some cream on my back and asked how I felt. I was in too much pain to tell him that of course I was feeling like shit with funky blisters across my back and my breasts, but I decided not to considering that he was kind enough to explain my condition carefully, and professionally. It's summer time, it's bikini season, it's time to expose my skin and get a nice suntan... but no. This year there will be no pretty bras, no massages, no beach parties, no intensive yoga, it will be just me waiting for the autumn so that I don't feel out of place wearing long sleeves and thick clothing that covers my erect nipples.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Speed Dating
So how did I go from the end of a nearly 7 month, long distance relationship to Speed Dating? Well, here's the story.
I am an avid hiker/trekker, and when I came back to Japan in April 2004, after living in Hong Kong for nearly a year, I wanted to join a hiking group so that I could make new friends and enjoy the mountains of Japan. I looked online for various groups, and ended up signing up to an English speaking hiking group that went trekking about once a month. I was really excited about going on an "international hike" for the first time in my own country, but unfortunately it pissed down with rain that day. Needless to say, the expedition was cancelled.
Ever since the day I signed up for the "international hike" I have been receiving a newsletter on "Events and Parties in and Around Tokyo" (which includes a hiking expedition at times. The title of the newsletter says it all: it's one of those "sad, singleton oriented" spam that has lists of events such as: "TGWR30s" (Thank God We Are 30s -- meet men and women (single/divorced) who are in their 30s!), or "International Friendship Party" (Tired of crowded bars? Tired of bad chat-up lines? Well, this is a casual get together of.....) , or "Tokyo Executives Wind-Down Sunday BBQ".... Do I need to continue?
I must admit I usually glance through the newsletter to see what kind of "Parties" are being organised in this city, when I noticed something new: "Speed Dating", a 5 minute date with 10 to 15 men on a saturday evening in a bar/club. There is a no-nonsense, non-threatening aspect about speed dating; if the date is not going well, and you don't particularly want to see him ever again, well, he has gone to his next date after 5 minutes, and "lo and behold" you have a new date for the next 5 minutes. And if that does not work out, well, you get your next dude in 5 mins. In all honesty, considering the calibre of available men in this city (you'd be surprised!) my expectation is that I am going to walk out of a Speed Date saying. "Yup. And that was that. So what can I do next for a laugh!"
So -- literally -- for a joke I applied for the Speed Dating thing, thinking that a) I probably won't get a place in the highly competitive event for all the sad and lonely singletons out there b) even if I did, it is going to be a laugh coz most of the participants are going to be geeks, misfits, closet homosexuals trying to convince themselves that they "can" be cured, or organic life forms that are a few, um, actually several steps below "homo sapiens" on the evolution ladder for there is no screening process to join c) it's a time-filler for me while the DWFs guzzle local booze in downtown Taipei coz they are out there for business... indefinitely d) it's boring being at home by yourself on a saturday night.
Two days ago I got a message in my inbox that told me that I had secured a place at the Speed Dating event on the 20th.
Great... GRFuckingEAT... (I really was hoping that I would not be accepted into this very exclusive club of sad, lonely singletons!) AND to just add icing to cake, or maybe salt to injury, the organisers had the audacity to say in the last line of the confirmation email: "By the way, is DWR a male, or a female name?"
These FECKERs don't even know if I am a man or a woman, and they are trying to match me up with a date!! I am a little bit worried now: I may end up finding a cabbage leaf sitting opposite me for 5 minutes during this Speed Date event, in which case I am going to have to snag its "1 free drink ticket". It won't notice, I'm sure!
Jeez, what have I done...
(post script: some of you may be wondering why I can just spring out from a 7 month relationship and enter the dating "ring" so soon. Well, to be honest, I am doing it to fill my time with activities so that I don't end up crying on the train again. My expectation, just as I said, is pretty low, and the most likely "ending" to the speed date story is that I bump into one of the closet homosexuals who dated one of my gay friends. Yes, it really is a small world....)
I am an avid hiker/trekker, and when I came back to Japan in April 2004, after living in Hong Kong for nearly a year, I wanted to join a hiking group so that I could make new friends and enjoy the mountains of Japan. I looked online for various groups, and ended up signing up to an English speaking hiking group that went trekking about once a month. I was really excited about going on an "international hike" for the first time in my own country, but unfortunately it pissed down with rain that day. Needless to say, the expedition was cancelled.
Ever since the day I signed up for the "international hike" I have been receiving a newsletter on "Events and Parties in and Around Tokyo" (which includes a hiking expedition at times. The title of the newsletter says it all: it's one of those "sad, singleton oriented" spam that has lists of events such as: "TGWR30s" (Thank God We Are 30s -- meet men and women (single/divorced) who are in their 30s!), or "International Friendship Party" (Tired of crowded bars? Tired of bad chat-up lines? Well, this is a casual get together of.....) , or "Tokyo Executives Wind-Down Sunday BBQ".... Do I need to continue?
I must admit I usually glance through the newsletter to see what kind of "Parties" are being organised in this city, when I noticed something new: "Speed Dating", a 5 minute date with 10 to 15 men on a saturday evening in a bar/club. There is a no-nonsense, non-threatening aspect about speed dating; if the date is not going well, and you don't particularly want to see him ever again, well, he has gone to his next date after 5 minutes, and "lo and behold" you have a new date for the next 5 minutes. And if that does not work out, well, you get your next dude in 5 mins. In all honesty, considering the calibre of available men in this city (you'd be surprised!) my expectation is that I am going to walk out of a Speed Date saying. "Yup. And that was that. So what can I do next for a laugh!"
So -- literally -- for a joke I applied for the Speed Dating thing, thinking that a) I probably won't get a place in the highly competitive event for all the sad and lonely singletons out there b) even if I did, it is going to be a laugh coz most of the participants are going to be geeks, misfits, closet homosexuals trying to convince themselves that they "can" be cured, or organic life forms that are a few, um, actually several steps below "homo sapiens" on the evolution ladder for there is no screening process to join c) it's a time-filler for me while the DWFs guzzle local booze in downtown Taipei coz they are out there for business... indefinitely d) it's boring being at home by yourself on a saturday night.
Two days ago I got a message in my inbox that told me that I had secured a place at the Speed Dating event on the 20th.
Great... GRFuckingEAT... (I really was hoping that I would not be accepted into this very exclusive club of sad, lonely singletons!) AND to just add icing to cake, or maybe salt to injury, the organisers had the audacity to say in the last line of the confirmation email: "By the way, is DWR a male, or a female name?"
These FECKERs don't even know if I am a man or a woman, and they are trying to match me up with a date!! I am a little bit worried now: I may end up finding a cabbage leaf sitting opposite me for 5 minutes during this Speed Date event, in which case I am going to have to snag its "1 free drink ticket". It won't notice, I'm sure!
Jeez, what have I done...
(post script: some of you may be wondering why I can just spring out from a 7 month relationship and enter the dating "ring" so soon. Well, to be honest, I am doing it to fill my time with activities so that I don't end up crying on the train again. My expectation, just as I said, is pretty low, and the most likely "ending" to the speed date story is that I bump into one of the closet homosexuals who dated one of my gay friends. Yes, it really is a small world....)
Monday, August 01, 2005
Moving, Living, Moving On
In the end it took the 3 movers only 2.5 hours to move 60 items/boxes into my new house. It was very impressive considering that the municipality had contracted a bunch of cowboys (probably with a second job as traffic wardens during the weekday) to dig up the road in front of my house. By 1pm I was unpacking boxes after boxes of my clothes and hanging them up with only one intention: I am going to have some structure and order in my wardrobe... this time. (I think I said that the last time I moved homes.) My mind is set: I am going to live in this house for at least 2 years, maybe 3 or 4 even. I am going to do up my area of the communal garden, put out deck chairs on the wooden patio, and place potted flowers in the window boxes outside the upstairs bedrooms.
I'm going to "live" here. Just me, and my cats, Belle and George. Just me. And I'm going to live.
Since I ended my relationship with Nick last week I have been walking in a daze half of the time, thinking of all the "what if"s between us. I've tried to fill my time with Yoga, rock climbing, dinner with friends, and anything that I can think of at the time. I even went and got my hair cut into a short bob, which everyone seems to notice, and like, today at the office. "DWR? What is it? You look different... Ah, you cut your hair!"
Yes, I did. And I am going to make a fresh start, while I hold onto the good memories that I have with Nick, for they are treasures that are part of my life.
So, now that this chapter in my life titled "Nick" is over, what am I going to do next that is radical and crazy and unusual and uncharacteristic and fun and positive and incredibly silly and unbelievably sad and pathetic?
Speed Dating.
(more about speed dating tomorrow...)
I'm going to "live" here. Just me, and my cats, Belle and George. Just me. And I'm going to live.
Since I ended my relationship with Nick last week I have been walking in a daze half of the time, thinking of all the "what if"s between us. I've tried to fill my time with Yoga, rock climbing, dinner with friends, and anything that I can think of at the time. I even went and got my hair cut into a short bob, which everyone seems to notice, and like, today at the office. "DWR? What is it? You look different... Ah, you cut your hair!"
Yes, I did. And I am going to make a fresh start, while I hold onto the good memories that I have with Nick, for they are treasures that are part of my life.
So, now that this chapter in my life titled "Nick" is over, what am I going to do next that is radical and crazy and unusual and uncharacteristic and fun and positive and incredibly silly and unbelievably sad and pathetic?
Speed Dating.
(more about speed dating tomorrow...)
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