Reason, Season, or Lifetime

 Back in March 2005 I travelled to the other side of the planet from Tokyo on a 15hr journey to meet a man who met through this blog. He also owned a blog, and we would leave each other comments. That’s how it started. We somehow fell in love, but being in a long distance relationship during the MSN Messenger era was a bit too hard for me. We broke up, went our separate ways, and each of us got married and lived happily ever after. 

We stayed in touch, however, and sent each other Christmas greetings from time to time. Wondering how life was treating each other. We follow each other on social media, and hit “like” on milestone photos of children and pets.

We grow old in our respective countries, on the other side of the world, and when one of us passes, the other one gets wind of the conclusion through Facebook…  

In a parallel universe.

In this universe, however, the ending is slightly different, and it is still being written as you read this. 

When I think about my story, I remember a poem I read when I was still at school: Reason, Season, or Lifetime. Because I’m still trying to work out why this man is still in my life.

*********

My soon-to-be-ex husband thought I would never find anyone that would want to be with me when he agreed to opening up the marriage. He thought I would live in the countryside by myself forever, while he lives it up in the city house that I paid for. With my son. And while he rested on his laurels, thinking he need not make any effort to fix the disaster that became my 15year marriage, I reconnected with the man I flew 15hrs to visit 19 years ago. 

It turned out that as I entered an open marriage his divorce was finalised. Two lovers, separated in time and space, somehow were in a position where the universe gave us another chance. This time in the era of smartphones and wifi connection. This time with maturity and hindsight to guide us towards a healthier relationship. 

I flew again to the other side of the planet to see him after corresponding almost daily and developing an emotional bond for over 6 months. Distance forces us to take things slowly, and as a result, we make the most out of the time we spend together. We’re fond of each other, we respect each other, we listen to each other, and we’re there for each other. 

Is he here for a Lifetime? I don’t know. I hope so, but I’m still trying to find out. 

My soon to be ex husband? I wish for it to be a Reason. And his season to end soon  

Departmental Curse

The department I work for, I thought, had an unusually high divorce rate when I joined 7 years ago. Maybe it was because in my previous workplace, most of the people were long term singletons. Or these days, I think they are called “incels”. 

Unlike my consulting days, the team I work with has a good work-life balance. It’s just that there is some travel involved; but again, not to the level of my consulting days. I would say less than 20% travel.

At least 10% of the team (that I know) came back from their brief business trip to a “Dear John” letter from their spouse and an empty house. In some cases so empty there were no furnishings left in the house. 

How does one clear out a three bedroom house, with two kids and two cats, during a 5 day business trip? That’s an achievement worth mentioning on one’s LinkedIn profile.

As I go through my legal separation (aka divorce) from my son’s father, I am slowly coming to accept that I truly belong to this team of wonderful colleagues who are all divorced. It’s almost as if our department is cursed and being a divorcee is how we are initiated into this team of internal auditors.

Yes. I am an internal auditor. 

The Unraveling… (part 2)

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And one man’s hag is another man’s whore. 

“I’m kicking you out. You need to take all your stuff out of this house by the end of this month and move permanently to the holiday home with your dog. I don’t want you here if you’re going to be with another man.” was what I received on iMessage. Fifteen years’ of marriage and he still doesn’t have the decency or the courage to look me in the eye and say these things. 

What followed next was a list of “conditions for separation”. 30+ things he was dictating, including “alimony” for something he casually agreed to: an open marriage. None of the things he listed out included anything to do with custody arrangements for our son. Just assets, financials, and administration. 

What was I smoking fifteen years ago when I said, “I do.”?

Now I’m completely sober. Healthy. And I knew that I needed to finish what I started, which is to legally separate myself from my earlier mistake. No amount of couples therapy or reconciliation date nights was going to fix this marriage when one of us saw no problems with it. Perfectly happy was his marriage before I wrecked it with a third party. 

That’s not my reality; not my experience.

I drafted and rewrote the conditions for separation into offer of divorce conditions. For some reason he thought that a counter offer of couples counseling would bring me back. 

No. I’ve asked you twice too many times in 15 years. You never came to therapy; you never wanted to work it out with me. Too late. I don’t bluff like you… I moved on years ago since my last request to work on our relationship. I haven’t spent a weekend doing activities with you since. I don’t eat with you. I don’t holiday with you. I spend half my week in a different house from you. I just share some of our living space and pay the mortgage. 

I have my own life, and so do you.

And now, it’s time for me to interview divorce lawyers. Something I should have done years ago.

The Unraveling … (part 1)

 Open marriage. This is what initiated the end of a fifteen year contract with the father of my son. I remember that night clearly, as we were both in bed at the same time. It was unusual to be in bed at the same time, for the past decade or so we went to bed at different times. I went to bed by 9 o’clock. He came around midnight. 

I approached my soon to be ex-husband (S2BX) while he sat propped up on three pillows (one of which belonged to my side of the bed that he had a habit of stealing) playing “Smashing Four” on his iPad mini. 

One of four iPads in a home of three people. 

I asked if he thought our marriage would benefit from opening it up to other romantic partners especially because I had not been able to satisfy him sexually. We had a classic “sexless marriage” following the long, difficult conception process and early birth of our only son. It took over a year of trying to have a lot of sex during my ovulation week, and not much in between due to my lack of enthusiasm to continue the wifely duties. Sex, when it becomes a chore just like vacuuming or folding laundry, is something you put off until the last minute or outsource. At least for this wench who hates folding laundry these two are the best options. 

“Sure. If it pleases you. But I’m fine not getting a girlfriend, because I’m busy with work and raising L (our 12 year old son)”. He said, not looking up from his screen. 

I wasn’t surprised with his response, because for the best part of 7 years since our son started elementary school he has been indifferent about my various requests for independence. Holidays with my female friends, solo diving trips, spending half my week at our holiday home… the list goes on. 

“Are you sure you’re fine about opening up our marriage?” I asked repeatedly, because knowing how my S2BX is - possessive - I knew that operating under an open marriage may not be as easy as his “sure, whatever”s. 

He looked up briefly from his Smashing Four and said, “Sure, why not. If you think you can find someone who will be interested in you”, whilst smirking, as if to say:”if you can find somebody who is willing to be intimate with your fat, ugly body.”

He’s so offensive. Even more so after I put on 30lb during COVID. Even without the weight gain he often told me that no one else would want to be with a recovering alcoholic like me. 

Emotional abuse 101.

I once took it, but these days I’m over it. I’ve gone through enough therapy to let it bring my spirits down.

“Yes, I want an open marriage. I hope you’re fine with me getting a boyfriend.”

Perfect. I can decouple from a loveless marriage and have my sexual needs met by someone who will respect me and love me the way I deserve to be loved. 

Doing Grownup Stuff

 

Over the past decade or so, I’ve had to do some growing up. Aging is inevitable, but I never knew that growing up, or maturing, is something that I have to work at, and not something that happens naturally as we age. 

Since I started on the path of recovery from my alcoholism and addiction, I’ve gone back to a suit job, got married, bought property and built a house, had a kid - a micro premie who is on the spectrum, changed jobs, bought another piece of property and built another house, said good bye to my cats, and said hello to a dog, with a relapse and periodic return to prescription drug abuse in between. 

I’ll have ten years without alcohol this month though. It hasn’t been plain sailing the last 19 years, but nonetheless an achievement since this is the longest I’ve gone without booze. 

While the list of things I’ve done since 2005 sounds like I’ve got my life back in order, the destructive, drunk within has continued to sabotaged my inner life periodically. I’m not used to serenity and peace. Chaos and drama are where I feel alive. Always.

I struggled through a 15 year marriage to a man who is as sick as I was at three years’ sober. He chose not to seek professional help, or to get with a program to work on his issues. I, on the other hand, took on his issues, made it my own, and sat around pissed off that I had too much to fix on my plate. 

Time to let go of his problems, and him.

Divorce is never easy. None of my immediate family members have experienced divorce. All of them are widows or widowers, some of whom are living their best moments now that their tormentors have left for the other world. At 50, I’m too young to be dead on the inside, but too old to sit around waiting for something or someone to change my drab reality. It’s time I put my big-girl pants on and took ownership of my own destiny. Time for another round of growing up. 

* I need to thank my ex, but now current boyfriend, N, for encouraging me to write again. I doubt anyone else would read my posts so I’m writing this mostly with his readership in mind. *

AAARRRRGGGG!!

My links are gaarn! This sucks! I need to sit and surf the web for ages... :(

Ingrish Teachaar

I love my English Language students – they crack me up sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I really like all my students, but they have me shaking my head after each lesson simply because they have the wackiest ideas about the English language.

It’s my job to help people to speak English; and one of the ways in which I can help them is on their pronunciation. When you are a native English speaker like me, you have no difficulties differentiating words like: Berry, Belly, and Very. All my Japanese students hear the same word when I say these three.

Belry, Belry, Belry.

No wonder they can’t understand English…

For some of them I have spent a good part of the lesson asking them to close their eyes so that they can’t see my lips when I say Berry, Belly, and Very, but to no avail…. I am starting to wonder if they have different ears to me, because I am clearly saying BERRY, BELLY, and VERY.


(They are so lovely; they try hard, but they still crack me up!)

An old friend of mine, a Japanese gentleman who graduated from the same college as me, is a linguist. He published a book that addresses the same issue that I see in my classes every day. As someone who learnt English when entering Graduate school in the UK, he emphasises the importance for those of us who have very little sound differentiation in our native languages (e.g. Japanese) to learn to listen carefully, before attempting to make the correct sound. (Sound advice! No pun intended…) The Japanese language does not have many consonants, including B, V, F, R, L, S, M, N, and TH, and Koreans (based on my observation) do not seem to get the J and Z sounds, for everything sounds like “jhu”.

I must admit I don’t go pissing myself with laughter when my students find it difficult to pronounce a word, but they do keep me amused with the various sounds they try very hard to make so that they can make themselves understood by us. The pinnacle of my day’s musings was “sympathetic”, which was quaintly pronounced “shimpaceti’ku’u”.

We all have a long way to go....

Leaving Stuff on Memory Lane

There is a sushi shop in Ootsuka, North Tokyo, where I did a few laps of heavy drinking in the pre-AA days. Its one of those places where most of the customers order alcoholic beverages before midday: beer, sake, Shochu, or Soju. No one orders food there, only Jinro, gali (pickled giner), and “just one more for the road”. Even the sushi chef, Taisho*, has had a few by 1pm.

Ootsuka, a rough, working class neighbourhood, is close to my old, old, old, flat I lived in nearly 6 years ago. I had not visited this area for ages until recently. I was there doing some spot “language consulting” work which involves me introducing potential English language students to teachers who can teach in their neighbourhood. The agency sets the time and place, and I am just there to explain the payment system. Nothing to it, but it takes one hour, on mostly weeknights after 8pm, or 9pm.

On Thursday last week I found myself standing outside the Ootsuka Sushi “Bar” at 9:45pm. Its peak drinking time for most of the punters. I know, for I was a long standing regular there at the turn of the last century. A year or two ago, had I found myself standing in the same place my mind would have jumped straight to the thought of a nice Go of Hakkaisan sake, but that day my intensions were clear: have some dinner, and head off home to my nice, middle class suburb.

As soon as I walk in the Taisho asks me what I'd like to eat. I order tea and begin to shout out my order one by one Toro (fatty tuna), Uni, Engawa, Hamachi, etc. I ordered nine items all together just to test if he could remember it all.

“Hai-yo” (sure), he exclaimed, his hands moving up and down the display case picking out the various fish in my order. Some of the other punters, already on their third or fourth drink, started to laugh. “Taisho, how many orders can you remember all at once?”

“I can remember about 11, or 12.”

“Taisho, how about how many drinks you've had today?”

Taisho, never missing a beat with his hands moving smoothly through his rhythm of putting together my raw fish dinner, said, “I remember only important things, and how many I've had is irrelevant. Oops, it's nearly 10pm; I better catch up to you guys! Hey, I'll have some cold sake”.

A minute later he has a glass of clear, slightly thick liquid, and is almost finished with my small order of nine.

Amazing. It truly amazes me how some people are functional alcoholics. I know one when I see one, for I used to be one of them. The dude remembers 11 items at once – must be rote memory – but can't remember how many he's had that day. No wonder I used to enjoy losing track of time, sipping my next one for the road, and eating nothing but pickled ginger and a few slices of sashimi in a grubby little neighbourhood. It's so easy to leave the outside world and to sit down on a stool opposite the tipsy Taisho ordering food after drink after food.

You leave your wet your wet umbrella and the day's trouble outside the sushi bar in Ootsuka; and you never have to worry about remembering what you ordered, so long as it's only 12 items or less. (Hell, no one there would order that much food. Drinks, perhaps, but never food!)

After finishing the last piece of salmon sushi in my mouth I stood up asking for the bill, paid, and bid the happy punters and the Taisho goodbye leaving them with their next one for the road. It was a nice little trip down memory lane, but on reflection it's easier to see that some things are best left where they are: in the past.

I slid the wooden door behind me, smiled to myself and left Ootsuka, booze, and Taisho too – my memory lane – to take a train back to my new house in the middle of a squeaky clean, family oriented, quiet neighbourhood in Southwest Tokyo.

*Taisho has the same meaning as “Governor” or “Gov” as loosely used by people from the southern parts of Britain.

Lost In Thought

Have I ever talked about “Blind Cycling”? Probably not.

I am frequently lost in thought; I often miss the station I’m supposed to get off; I take the express train instead of the local one, get on the train going the wrong direction, and the list goes on.

I’m not only absent minded about where I am going, but also what I wear. Many a times have I left the house in my slippers, worn odd socks, worn my skirt back to front, because while my body exists in the physical world and functions to accomplish daily tasks, my mind has already removed itself to enter the realm of my vast imagination. (A bit Alice-like I suppose). I am a classic introspective introvert, a group often linked to the “absent minded professor”.

This morning, for example, I was on my way to my brother’s office lost in thought and having a “conversation” with him in my head. I often rehearse in my mind what I am going to say, and what I anticipate him to say, etc., when I noticed that something was missing at the top of the stairs at the station. Not only was I at the wrong end of the platform from my usual transfer, I was at the wrong station. Somehow my body just drifted off the train, my legs moved independently from the frontal lobe activities, and I was standing at the wrong place, at the wrong time as if unbeknownst to me I had been transported by aliens from one dimension to another.

My eccentricities go even further than this: it was raining this afternoon when I got to Dotour, a cheaper Japanese version of Starbucks, where I usually pick up my “coffee flavoured cake” in a semi-recycled cup. The polite Japanese placed a grey, plastic bucket just on the inside of the door – a perfect place to put my wet umbrella. Wrong…. On my way out of the shop I noticed for the first time that the umbrella stand was on the other side of the vessel that contained my umbrella. What the hell did I put my brolly in then? It turned out that my precious umbrella was sitting in a rubbish bin along with someone’s old receipt and a few snotty tissues.

Typical….

It is at moments like these when I have to put the breaks on my untamed mind. I know that by living in my head I am far from living in the moment: the here and now. The place where real people live: the place where real people are reading the morning papers; the place where real people are twitching their nose ready to sneeze; the place where real mothers struggle up the station stairs with one small child in one hand, and a bag of shopping in the other; the place where real homeless people rummage through the rubbish bins looking for half left over sandwiches; the real place where real things – good and bad – happen. This place is the real source of my inspiration, my excitement, my happiness, my pain, my sorrow, and my snotty, runny nose on cold mornings.

Not my ruddy head.

Going back to blind cycling: what the hell is that? People who are visually impaired have really sharp senses, because they are missing one of the most relied upon sensory organ by humans to give them information about the outside world: sight. As a way for me to come back into the real world (apart from meditating), and to heighten my sense of being in the “here and now” I take my bicycle down a stretch of familiar side street and cycle with my eyes closed: Blind Cycling”.

Blind cycling not only tests your faith and ability to remember the road EXACTLY the way it is, but also it makes you very aware of all the small changes going on around you. The slight bump on the road, perhaps caused by an unexpected pebble, a pedestrian turning into the street, your exact position on the street based on the changes in the air speed as you pass the space between the side garden of one house to the edge of the garage door on the next. Sound, smell, and balance working together with the picture you have captured in your head.

You should try it once; it’s quite scary, but liberating.

Trusting one’s ability to live fully in the here and now is hard for someone who is naturally inclined to live in a world of abstract connections , but I think it’s all worth it, for I would never be able to gather the pieces of the puzzle to make up the painting in my head.

It’s blind cycling on days like this that brings me back to where I belong: here and now.

I'm Back

And I am completely sober; haven't had a drink in over a year. Not a single drop, which is not bad for an alcoholic, right?

Looking back over the past year life has been more than a perfect excuse for me to return on the piss and trip my sorry arse away, but as life goes (just as it does for others)I have to live one day at a time: a good friend commited suicide leaving me a note; insanity to be in a relationship with a colleague for the reason that I was "lonely"; getting Shingles twice resulting in residual neuralgia; return of asthma attacks which ended in me passing out at our office lobby; excessive weight-loss (being 41kg at 162cm made me look like a crack whore!); missed days at work; my brother's arrest for possession of "illegal substances -- he was locked up for over a month; dating an ex-coke head (which ended in me running away from the relationship -- again); quitting my 6figure a year job to follow my heart and become certified as a professional SCUBA diver in Flores, Indonesia; the death of my unborn nephew, followed shortly by my brother's girlfriend committing suicide; tax man freezing my bank account for unpaid back taxes from 3 years ago when I was living in Hong Kong; working as a freelance translator, English teacher, interpretor, researcher, and copy editor -- basically anything to put food in the Kitty bowl every night!

SHIT! Sounds like hell, huh? But I had good fun last year, because I did all of this with no booze, prozac, pot, benzo's, white drugs, binging/vomiting, or anorexia. Just green tea and coffee. Isn't that amazing? Green tea and Coffee.

I have no excuse now not to continue myy writing. I stilll see shit going on around me, but I also see a lot more happiness in the world. I started these ramblings for a reason. And so long as the reason still remains, I might as well keep it up.

On a small note: one of my DWFs, A, is getting married next year. All three of us (DWFs) had dinner at the end of last year to celebrate the good news. A asked me why I stopped writing for a while; his take on it was that I am no longer angry. I disagree. Self righteous anger has been a huge part of my adulthood (and maybe slightly before) but the continuous motion of my pen comes from a different, unknown source. It's not pain, anger, or bitterness; it is something much simpler. Just like the Tao, it just is. Perhaps that is why all my emotions ended up on here, exposed like a dissected frog. It's OK; it's not the end of the world. I don't know who is reading this post at the moment, and neither do you know me. But at this moment, we both "are".

We are.

Strange Crimes... Strange Products

I had a good laugh when I came across this site where inmates place an ad to find a penpal/onanistic toy. It's not the ads, nor is it the concept of people who are locked behind bars for the next decade or so looking for snail-mail lovers that did the trick. It's reading their faux pas that did it for me.

When you read crime descriptions (handed down to the inmates by the courts) like "theft by unlawful taking over $300", or "delivery of cocaine with a deadly weapon" it makes you wonder WHO THE FUCK comes up with sillyness like this! So if I stole $299.99 is it classified as lawful theft? If I delivered cocaine with my bicycle it's kosher? I thought that stealing anything is a crime, and in most places transporting coke without a legit license is certainly something that the DA would not approve of. For fuck's sake, it's not exactly delivering for Pizza Hut now, is it? ("Oh, but officer, I was only doing a summer job for a Crack House; I was working only for tips" is obviously not an excuse.) Just call it what it is: Theft; Drug Trafficking.

None of these irrelevant frills like "unlawful" or "deadly weapons". please! When was a crime "lawful", and when did weapons not have the potential to harm others? Even junked up copy-writers working in the orient do not come up with this crap.

Check out the "homosausage" sold in Japan! Honestly, this is not a bad joke -- homosausages are a well known brand of "fish" sausages. (Where do they find these copywriters!)

I also found some mucos pills... is there no end to this? (Oh well, they keep me amused on rainy days.)

New Found Freedom

I am trying to be a bit more difficult with the guy I am seeing these days. After only 2months of dating, I fucked off to Indonesia for 10weeks. I came back, and now I am expecting him to put more of his heart on the line (even though I have explicitly stated that I will be moving out of Japan soon... whenever that may be.) I told him that I would do the same too; I'm like that.

I will ask him out to the cinema tomorrow. If he refuses, I think I will throw a bit of a sulk. In the past I tried hard to not be a difficult person, but my new found freedom from excessive drinking habits makes it OK for me to act this way. Why? Go and ask the "12 Step Programers", they seem to herald and praise crazy actions and decisions -- so long as you are sober!

Sobriety rules!

(Keep coming back, DWR. Keep coming back...)

Honesty Hat: I have no idea why I wish to be difficult around this person. Maybe I

Ask No Questions, Tell No Lies...

What is it like to be emotionally "unstable" by most people's standards? What is it like to be a recovering alcoholic/junkie/bulimic? Hmm... Good question. I don't know any different, so it's hard to explain.

I found an interesting site dedicated to deception in relationships. Reading

I guess now you know what it's like to be me...

Heart's Desire

Do you have a dream? Have you ever wondered if you are in the right job, the right apartment, the right country? I have. All the time.

Instead of living my life in a dream I decided to do something about it. I have always wanted to retire early to persue a life as a professional diver in the recreational diving industry. I do not belong in an office; at the end of this month I will be flying to Flores, Indonesia to follow my dreams. I know that it sounds a bit mad to quit one's job to go diving for 3 months... but it's something that I have to do.

It's my heart's desire.

Afternoon Tea With "M"

"M" is an idealist, just like me. I first met "M" back in early January this year. He had just come back from his pilgrimage to the middle east over the winter holidays: "Christmas in Kabul" was the theme of his travel last year. M is one of those who value collecting experiences in life versus the accumulation of material wealth, false prestige, and superficial acquaintances. And I admire his lifestyle choices, which is one of the reasons that I enjoy his company even though he can be very intense, cynical, sarcastic, and dry. Underneath his intensity, he does, however, have a good sense of humour.

He's just serious by nature.

M knows that my brother is behind bars, and his take on this situation for me was:"Would you quit trying to run your brother's life?".

His statement was probably the most sensible, honest advice that I got over my brother's fiasco.

In the end my brother got off with a 3 year suspended sentence. It didn't stop him from drinking and driving that evening. Once again he was lucky to get off scott-free, but I think that it is probably only a matter of time before something else comes up with him... namely tax evasion. Today I have other things to worry about in my life: me.

**************************************************************

Today I no longer have my afternoon tea sessions with M, for he has left the country to pursue his dream of starting his own internet business in the western orient. I still get emails from him frequently... always with sound advice on many things.

I miss my afternoon mini-lectures/discussions with M...

Busted!!

No, not me. I'm still here. It's my younger brother, BK, who got busted for possession of 34g (just over 1 ounce) of marijuana, and 5 plants, three of which were post harvest. The legal system in this country is draconian to say the least. My brother was arrested on March 2nd, when the police came to his home with a search warrant, and he has been in solitary confinement with no access to the outside world apart from his lawyer who can talk to him only through a perspex wall.

And ofcourse his conversations with his legal council are monitored by the po-leeese.

If you are caught growing pot in this country, the pigs try to automatically add a bonus to your possession charges called "with intent to supply" and the judge has deferred his access to us twice. I remember doing some research ages ago on how the police handle detainees -- i.e. people who have not officially been charged with a criminal offence. It ain't pretty...

Although my brother's arrest was on March 2nd, and legally he cannot be detained without access to family for more than 22days, the legal system conveniently discounts weekends as a "day". His lawyer told me that the earliest that we could possibly see him will be at his bail hearing on either March 28th or 29th. If he's granted bail it will be somewhere in the order of 1.5million yen (US$13K) to 3million max (US$26K). That's IF the judge decides that he can go between now and his court cases...

To top it all, we all have to hide this from his company, his girlfriend ends up in hospital with inflamed kidneys from the stress, the wench mum has turned into a zombie, his assistant is rushing around left, right, and centre to keep the lid on things....

I don't need this in my "early" sobriety.

I will be 5 months sober tomorrow. And I guess that my brother, when he gets out, will be joining me at my NA meetings too....

I'm too fucking tired of sobriety. When will it END!!! (I need to get away from this crazy shit for a permanent holiday the sun.)

Inventory Management and Drugeconomics

Yes, once again I am pissed off. This time I am pissed off at the convinience store "consumer business" industry.

There is a brand of energy bar/cereal bar that I found at AM-PMs that I really like; it's got rice crispies, dried fruit, and covered in excuisite white chocolate. There is also my local Family Mart that sold boxes and boxes of Granola Bars which is also something that I like to eat. In fact on most days all I eat are the white chocolate energy bars and granola bars. (yes, I have a very strange diet). Before I went to Oz I could find my food stash by the dozens at these convinience stores with NO trouble, and I would often go out and buy my nutrients in large batches "just in case" I ran out -- a sensible move, considering what has happened to the drastic shift in availability since my return from Australia.

These FECKERS DONT HAVE *MY FOOD* ON STOCK!!!!! I have gone to the local family mart for the past 6 days and not one single box of Granola bars was on the shelf at any time of the day! Instead, some dip-shit decided to order 8 boxes of Branflakes instead (can you believe it?). Branflakes. And those 8 boxes have not moved since Wednesday when I first went back in there to stock up on my granola bars. Why do I know they have not shifted? I noticed that the box on top was slightly damaged, and that damaged box has been there - right on top of the pile - all this time.

I don't need a degree in economics, or business administration, to work out that if I am selling a lot of one thing, I should order some more of the same shit before it runs out. I do not suddenly decide to order Butt-pluggers like "branflakes", in large volume, that shift about as slowly as they do in the human digestive system. Whose the procurement planner for my local family mart? I want to sit them down and give them a pep talk about slow moving and obsolete inventory (SLOB) versus fast moving, high turnover stock that brings in the cash -- FAST -- and reduces your liability (i.e. shit sitting around that doesn't sell). Even junked up crack dealers who consume over half their "stock" know not to go out and score a litre of Methadone to push onto their "customers". Most of them are going to move their "loyalties" as fast as I can say "Smack, Crack, and Pot" and get their precious rocks from somewhere else.

And as for the AM-PM that no longer stocks my favourite cereal bar... I know your marketing strategy. I know that you buy new stuff to see if it sells, and if it does, you just cut the supply, create a drought, and bring it back on the shelves when the demand is soooo high that if you hitch up the prices by a small-ish margin you expect us, the consumers, to not notice. Yeah, and we are so into your commodity that we will pay any price to get it. And you know it too... Sneaky buggers! You're like the drug barron, or "governments" who have a lot of support from the agricultural industry, who just holds onto the commodity so that the market is dry for a while, claiming some BS, like "oh we have had poor supply this year from the producers" as you create mountains and mountains of the goodies in some out of the way warehouse, and suddenly flood the market with your stash that now costs 20% more. And yes, we are sooooo stupid enough to buy your crap at hiked up prices because we NEED IT by the time you make it available to us.

Convinience Store Managers my arse!!! You are just ex-drug dealers who are now working in a "legit' biz" because you either got busted and sentenced to X hours community service working in the local convinience store, or you were so junked up that you couldn't multi-task your habit and the illicit drug-trading industry, and are only academically qualified to work as the manager of a franchise convinience store!! Whichever way, you all piss me off!!

Why am I pissed off? It's coz I can't get my stash of cereal bars/granola bars anymore!! Get it straight, boys and girls! Jeez, no wonder I have a college degree and a normal job. But if I ever get fired, I know can always fall back and use my BS. in Drugeconomics (with Hon.) from the University of Skid Roof, London.

Blast From The Past

I was looking back at my new year's resolution from 2005 only to realise that I kept 10 out of the 19 promises that I made to myself. WOW! That's over 50%!!!

Sweeeeeeet!

Now I could be a sweet person and let you know which ones I kept, but I will just be me and leave it to your imagination as to what I did and didn't manage to do last year.

Ok, it's a bit too late for a "New Years Resolution" but might as well make them, just so that I can break them, I guess...

1. Bitch less. Yes, I *am* aware that I complain a lot, but when I am pissed off I always feel that I have a justification, which is probably not a good sign.
2. Spend less. It sounds strange coming from someone who hates shopping, but I did buy that really expensive persian rug last year...
3. Work harder(?). Umm... yes, I do slack off at times. I just don't mention it here.
4. Stay away from trouble. (Not that I got into trouble last year, or the year before, and the year before that, I guess.)
5. Call the Wenchmum at least once a week. And I promise not to make a reverse charge call to her.
6. Take less benzodiazepines. I shouldn't really be tripping on diazepam at the office when things are slow, right?
7. Eat more healthily. Sustaining on bread, soup, cereal bars, and fruit juices is probably not too good for my skin.
8. Exersise as much as I did the year before last. I haven't done any excersise since Oct. 2005, which is probably not good for my metabolism.
9. Sort out my library. (That's just given you a hint about what I didn't do last year.)
10. Write more. I guess I didn't write much last year on this blog, huh? I've got far too many blogs going all over the place at various sites; I'm so scattered and inconsistent that I really need to just focus on a few things and stick to it, I guess. So I will probably pull the plug on a few over the course of a few days, weeks, or months.

So I guess that's it. We'll see how many I can keep this year -- if I can do 6, that's an improvement from last year, and I think I will be happy with that. See! I'm not bitching already! But there again, I have to wait till Dec. 31st before I can say that I bitched less this year, I s'pose...

Back Before You Knew I Was Gone

I just came back from the Australia, where I attended a 1/2 day conference in the Gold Coast, and 2 day meeting with my colleagues in Sydney. It was just so refreshing to be in the southern hemisphere basking in the sun on most days, only to come back to the shitty weather in Tokyo...

Yeah, why is it that I live in this cold weather?

I should be genetically acclimatised to warm/hot, high altitude, equatoral environments with two seasons -- dry and wet, but where have I lived? Cold, miserable lowlands with 4, or 5 seasons, all of which are relatively cold. Now how does that work out? Why are most "industrialised" places located in areas predisposed to shitty weatherfronts? Whose stupid idea was it to build a city of over 12 million people in a place that has 6 seasons (winter, spring, typhoon 1, summer, typhoon 2, autumn) and sits on a junction of 3 tectonic plates? (yes, we have a minor earthquake every month)

Ok, today I am pissed off because I had to go through Syndey airport and buy a bottle of wine for my friends and my brother, but none for me. I had to just walk past the gallons and gallons of beautiful booze that oooooozed yumminess, and a good drunken night with my DWFs, and just "Let Go, and Let God"... (?!)I mean, I just sat in a warm, dry, easygoing fun place like the Gold Coast, even though it was for work, only to return to a cold miserable high risk city via a rack of duty free booze???

Not fair...

(If there *is* a god, and it's reading this blog, would you please just remove the alocoholic, junkie gene from me so that I can just carry on with my life like a NORMAL person??? Thx. DWR)

Dedication To Isis, The Godess of Love

(I wrote this poem for a wonderful friend back in March last year, and I never got the chance to share it with him. Today I wanted to share it with you after I revisited it. I'm not a poet, but I thought I wanted to share with you the way I feel about the eternal subject of love... I hope you like it. DWR)


"Only Without Darkness Can We See Light"

Only without sight can we hear the lark sing at dawn,
or the watch the cuckoo find a friendly host for rearing its offspring,
or understand two swans, soulmates, dancing by the lake to show their eternal love,
Their love that extended beyond Venus' gaze during the cool summers.

Only without warmth can we appreciate the long lazy afternoons
spent lazily in the parks feeding our lovers sweet stawberries,
and drinking spicy champaigne as we watch small children bath in the cool pools.
Their parents watching over with love that cannot be unbridled.

Only without enlightenment can we appreciate that time is abstract.
Time with names like "O'clock" "Seconds" or "Days" bear no relevance, for the sun is shining and providing humanity with all the energy for suvival,
For you, for me, and for all our progeny.

Only without pain can we apprecate the feeling of release;
Pain in our heart, pain in our bowels, but wherever the pain,
Without experiencing such at least once in one's live,
We will live a life of regret and sorrow, for
Only without darkness can we see light.

Close your eyes and reminesce of the days that you were torn, tears streaming from your eyes. That green boulder of jealousy and anger growing each and every day inside of you that which you cannot control.
But remember also that without darkness there will be no light;
and without light, there will be no shadow to remind you of the pain.
Only when we heal from our wounds that we can look back,
Smile, and remember that only without darkness, can we see light.

========================================

I didn't write this in a depressive state; I wrote it when I was starting to feel optimistic and came to realise that waking up every morning, looking up at the ceiling I no longer prayed to God, or the universal energy in my case, why they had not grantd my wishes, and let me die in peace.

Today, I wake up, open my eyes and check that I'm still alive, because I no longer have a death wish. I want to live - shitty life or not, but the point is that I want to live, because I know what lurks in the darkness.

I want to thank my dear friend, O, for inspiring me to write this poem in the first place. Tnank you dear friend, for giving me hope.