why me.

today, i discovered a ladies home journal positioned very oddly in our powder room. right next to the sink. but the funny thing is that when i tried to move it, i discovered that it was stuck to the tile. i then saw that the adhesive was a white substance that looked a lot like milk or soap, and then some flakes of cereal. yes, flakes of honey bunches of oats. i quickly confronted my brother about eating (and spilling) his cereal in the bathroom. and not just that. why, after spilling it everywhere, he seemed to think simply covering it with a magazine was a perfectly sufficient way to clean it up. why does someone eat cereal in the bathroom? i wish i could tell you. i ask myself the same question.

at which point, he denied any knowledge of the cereal. i promptly labeled him as a liar, since i'd just seen him eating a bowl of cereal, i've seen him eat it in the bathroom before, there were unmistakable flakes all over, and... plus, he lies all the time. lying all the time equals liar. i told him to clean it up, and he told me what he thought of me, per the usual tradition these days. and clean it up, he did, with a dry paper towel, which was, essentially, no help at all. i discovered this later, and ended up cleaning the dried sugar myself. wow, i was under the impression that i was living with a 17 year-old. i'm pretty sure my 3 year-old kids in taiwan were even capable of cleaning something like that up. or just not eating cereal in the bathroom.

i suppose things would be different if every day weren't another version of the same thing.



the sound you are now hearing is miniature segments of my brain exploding.

just let go.

there's an old oak tree
we can swing and sway
we'll lock arms and legs, you're so far away
when i look at you, you're so far away
i'm so far away
if you could just let go
-mae


(i really, really, really love mae and i can't stop listening to this song. for realsies.)

home.

right now, the whole "home" concept is not what i thought it would be. nothing i've ever experienced before, either. but things rarely turn out the way you wish they would or expect them to.

so i suppose it's helpful that jon foreman's "i am still running" came on just when i needed to hear it.
build me a home, inside your scars
build me a home, inside your song
build me a home, inside your open arms
the only place i ever will belong

and as much as i've learned about this over the years, about how You provide home when i need it, i think i need to know this more than ever these days. i'm done with speaking and i'm done with arguing. i'm even done with searching for sympathy in the deepest regions of myself.

and i'm asking You, my Father, please don't forget me now. i need a home.

proud to be an american.

where working, tax-paying citizens can't get health care.
can you? because 22, working, mostly able-bodied, and as "citizen" as they come, i sure can't.

it's all wearing so very thin right now.

i keep trying to tell myself i'm not angry, but i so am.

still lazy, and still lame. i keep wanting to believe that maybe i expect too much, but i don't. i really, really don't. why am i so bad at being angry? i could understand it if it didn't bother me anymore, but it does. and i could understand it if i had a poor reason to be, but i don't. or even if it didn't hurt that much, but it does. no matter how many times i've tried to find a loophole in this whole being angry thing, i can't.

which, of course, isn't about just one thing, but about many things, some related and some not, which simply make me tired, angry, and consequently determined.

truly, i was excited to be back, and i like america okay, but i'm realizing how foolish it was to believe that there was anything to be anxious about here. absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also makes you forget all the important stuff that drove you away in the first place.

and why all the same problems, re-disguised as something far more interesting or forgivable, aren't okay anymore.

prague is in january. and at last i will be away, relieved, past... whatever you call it. because i just can't stand it.
again.

manana.

i now know why the olympics only happen once every 4 years.

they severely eclipse one's ability to carry on the responsibilities of a grown-up, much less act like one.

though i've gotta say it's a beautiful thing to forget yourself for a few seconds while amazing people like lezak do seemingly impossible things... like chasing down the french. because they had it coming. you forget that it's only a game, that the world is still full of real problems, and that you still have a serious problem with the u.s. government. these things seem trivial while you bounce around the room, screaming for some guy who can't even hear you to GO FASTER!

i maintain that the world could do with more absence of dignity.

things which do not put me in a good mood.

when i was 18, some things happened, and after a whole incident that included a truck, i ended up hospitalized but alive.

the sad thing is that the people responsible have more or less told me to shake it off.

and in the grand scheme, some days, like today, have been exceptionally shitty. you see, even though this happened 4 years ago, i spend whole days unable to feel some of my toes. for those who don't know, this has nothing to do with my toes, and everything to do with some nerves and discs in my lower back.

and also, 4 years later, i get rejected by insurance companies, and sometimes, to add insult to injury (literally, hah!), this happens on the same day that my toes are numb.

there's no good way to shake that off.

today really could have been better.

the 4 x 100 swim was epic.

and also, i'm wondering if michael phelps is looking for a wife. i'd make a great mrs. phelps.

question.

has nobody in the western world heard of jay chou's secret? oh netflix, how you disappoint me.