The Poetist

March began with a bang. Or a crash, really, as that’s the last sound I heard before I woke up on the floor of the airplane. But a few hours before…

I wasn’t paying attention – or I was, but not to the right thing. My mind was consumed by an email I just received from a friend doling out relationship advice and observations. She was right, and I was… holding onto something that was really only holding me back. In a short time I would fly to Palo Alto to look at apartments and I didn’t have my mind on packing because even I can handle packing for such a utilitarian trip. And then I forgot to go to the airport – until it was way past time to leave. Under normal circumstances I would spend the car ride silently berating myself for whatever series of choices led to this mistake. This time, however, I was thinking about my friend’s email, thinking back to a different set of choices made by a person no longer in my life, and fighting to hold back tears. As soon as the departure lobby doors closed behind me I started to cry. It was silent, nothing major, I just couldn’t hold it in as I swiped my card to check in for the flight. And then I couldn’t check in. The kiosk computer screen directed me to the nearest check-in attendant who told me that their system closed check-in 30 minutes before the flight. My flight was at 4:20, my watch said 3:50. I started to cry, really cry this time. The attendant seemed to genuinely feel bad for me, which I appreciated. She directed me to a phone where I was able to re-book a later flight, for a $100 fee. After finishing on the phone I still needed help from someone behind the counter but the nice lady had been replaced by an über-dragon lady who refused to help me.

I kept crying. On the way to my gate I went into the bathroom to have some privacy and just sobbed to myself in the metal stall. When I felt like I had finished I continued to my gate, looking quite a mess with three bright red spots where my eyes and nose used to be. I chose a seat away from most of the other passengers and called my friend to discuss my relationship woes. It didn’t take long for the seats around me to become occupied but I kept talking about my sadness, confusion and disappointment… all the while crying. After getting off the phone with her I walked down the corridor back to the bathroom, cried some more, returned to the gate, boarded the plane, and cried while the other passengers found their seats.

And then I couldn’t cry any more. After two hours of nearly continuous crying I was simply out of tears. My tear ducts were empty. My eyes felt dry and swollen. Even my mouth was dry, and my whole body was tired. It was as if I had drawn all but the most essential liquid from every possible organ within me and channeled it through my body to pour out from my eyes. I just had nothing left. Nothing but a mild dehydration headache to remind me of the tears.  The rest of the flight passed uneventfully; I had a cup of tea, which provided a little comfort, and I decided that a glass of red wine with dinner during my layover would be nice as well.

The red wine was indeed a good idea as I quickly fell into a deep sleep for the 2nd half of my journey. It was a good idea until I woke up. I felt sick, so sick. Sicker than I had ever felt before. My head was light but my stomach was heavy. I felt a serious urge to vomit but it seemed like I might faint first. And I was hot, sweating. My body was going in six different painful directions and the only apparent cause was being awake. I pressed the call button for the flight attendant but I couldn’t hear the tone. I wondered if the button was broken. When he came by I could barely hear him or see him – even though lights were on in the cabin. My vision had become dark and clouded, and it scared me. I managed to ask for water and he offered me aspirin, which I took. But it soon became clear to me that neither water nor aspirin was going to shake any of my symptoms. I got up to go to the bathroom but I couldn’t find it – I couldn’t see it. I could hear a female flight attendant nearby and the voice said I was in front of the bathroom but I couldn’t find the handle… it was just so dark! And then I heard a crash.

I opened my eyes and realized I was lying on the floor of the plane.

The female flight attendant sent a call over the intercom asking for any doctors on the plane to come to the front and I saw faces peering at me and asking questions. Another attendant came and brought blankets to put under my head. Even after I woke I continued to sweat and shake and apparently my skin had gone gray; I’m not sure how long I was out, or what the crash I heard was. One woman (a med student?) took my blood pressure and another woman (a nurse) asked me a series of questions. I was given orange juice to drink, and later some water. It was surmised that the red wine probably did me in and I was told that one glass on the ground equals three in the air. I didn’t think to mention the crying and how I had already felt dehydrated after that. I had felt deeply nauseous and intensely light-headed before – at the top of Mt. Fuji – but never on an airplane.  So it seemed that my body was overcome by the potency of dehydration-induced altitude sickness. In addition to liquids I was given… oxygen! I looked at the little yellow oxygen mask thinking, I should have paid more attention to all those safety demonstrations. I had no idea how to tighten the straps so I alternated holding the mask up to my face with drinking water and answering questions about my health and how to spell my name. The flight attendant offered to have a wheelchair or paramedics meet the plane when it landed but I felt that would be completely unnecessary.

I also felt it might have been unnecessary to forgo my rental car and ask a local friend to pick me up but I was strongly cautioned against driving (especially given my temporary loss of vision), so I called. And she came. to the wrong airport. At that point I was like, whatever, I can drive. I’m no longer dehydrated or tens of thousands of miles in the air so I should be good to go. I made it to the rental car counter and I couldn’t wait to just get in the car and go but there was one small discrepancy on my contract that I wanted to clear up. The website I used for my flight and rental car booked my flight into San Francisco and out of San Jose but they booked my car going through the San Francisco airport both coming and going. Surely it would be no problem to just drop my car off at the San Jose airport? This is a national rental company, after all. Dropping off the car at San Jose wouldn’t be a problem – provided I pay a $100 fee (of course). That was the last thing I wanted to hear, but being too tired to vocalize the thundercloud that must have passed over my face I just went to the car. Sitting in the driver’s seat I just felt that long and arduous journey wash over me. Relieved and ready to finish the day I turned on the GPS system… and it was in French.

At that point I had to laugh – for one more thing gone wrong, but also because that was one thing that didn’t faze me.

New York Times online: according to an ad for luxury Louis Vuitton, “Love is the greatest journey.”

Love is in the air – and on the air – as Valentine’s Day approaches.   Last night at a noisy bar I had a lengthy heart-to-heart with a friend about love (following on the heels of last weekend’s heart-to-heart at a different bar).  He believes that people should make sacrifices and take chances for love – which is nothing I haven’t heard before, but still I found it refreshing to hear him say it.  I had to wonder, who among my friends has taken or will take a chance for love?  My peer group is made up of independent, intelligent, world-traveling women.  Some of us would gladly take the label of feminist, but regardless of labels, who among us would fight for a relationship?  Who among us would willingly alter the course of our lives for another person?  It’s not a question of being comfortable taking chances… but which chances we’ll take, and the justifications we have.

And is love really the greatest journey?  What about self-discovery?  I imagine those two journeys can be very closely linked.  Love seems like such a confusing, nebulous thing… it frightens and intimidates people; might it be better to not seek it out?  That’s what a journey implies to me – searching for something or reaching a destination.  Excuse me while I put on my Merriam-Webster hat for a minute… If you’re looking for something that’s called a search.  If you’re going somewhere that’s taking a trip.  If you’re traveling without a destination you’re wandering.  And yes, of course, “not all those who wander are lost…” (who said that?)  I’m not sure what any of this is supposed to mean…  This isn’t even a subject that I’m generally comfortable thinking about because it is so confusing and even if you think you’ve reached an answer in your head how do you possibly apply this to life?  And what are all these platitudes about love and sacrifices and chances worth, if you can’t actually apply them to your life, or if nobody is willing to?

I didn’t eat anything yesterday.

That’s not exactly true… I had a bowl of oatmeal in the morning and most of a cup of hot cocoa in the evening.  But at least I managed not to spend the day in bed.  I strongly preferred forced sleep over facing the day, but that was only sustainable for the first few hours as I couldn’t continue to ignore my morning hunger.

I guess you could say I’m going through a rough patch right now.  I realized yesterday that my sense of satisfaction with life was far more delicate than I originally thought.  It became clear to me yesterday when the one thing in my life that I was excited about started going to pieces.  Deprived of the joy it gave me I realized I had nothing else in my life bringing me joy.

I understand this is all very vague, so let me bring it in…

Joblessness has been tough for me because I’ve tried hard to be employed and it hasn’t happened yet.  I thought setting a goal might help so I ‘decided’ that I would have a job and a place to live (in Chicago) by my birthday, January 29th.  What I learned from that is that you can’t place a timeline on those things!  I was giving myself 3 weeks to get a job and move half-way across the country… ambitious, and quite possibly impossible.  My birthday itself was a really tough Sixteen Candles -esque day as my birthday seemed to be only a minor afterthought for my family, and that morning the harsh reality of my job situation came crashing down on me.  After a phone interview with a company in Chicago in the morning I realized that my plan wasn’t going to work.

Plan B – unemployment benefits – didn’t work either.  I applied for unemployment benefits from the state of Iowa, but I was told that as I didn’t work in the United States in the previous year I wasn’t eligible for unemployment benefits until April.  I think everybody knows by now that I’m still owed over $2000 by my Japanese employer who went bankrupt; and I’m not eligible to receive unemployment benefits from Japan either.

So here I am, ineligible in America and screwed by Japan; no solid job prospects and no income.  Sure, I have potential; I’m young and bright, have an interesting resume (a job in Japan and a presidential campaign!), etc; but I’m still unemployed.

So my joy, when I have it, is in people – my friends in Chapel Hill and my boyfriend in California.  Long distance relationships are hard, but for the right person you want to try  to make it work…
I think this is maybe the most personal blog I’ve done.  Suffice it to say, I’m losing my sources of joy.  I know I’ll always have my friends but when the patch gets rougher and rougher that little bit of balm can still only go so far.  Today I got out of bed and put on make-up and a skirt; played a little bit of Attack on Facebook (my new favorite thing to do).  I often wish I could go to sleep and wake up in three months.  I got out of the house yesterday and met up with some friends who were studying at a coffee shop.  I tried to be productive and apply for a job.  I ended up just crying a lot.  Even on the way home I was sobbing so hard everything was blurry.  And I didn’t eat.

Today I only spent an extra hour in bed – and that was with a book.  I had my daily bowl of oatmeal… but I’m still not hungry.

The past year and a half has been an insane period of time. I graduated from the University of Chicago; taught English in Tokyo for 13 months (did a lifetime of crazy/cool things and am still owed over $2000 by my former employer); worked on a presidential campaign for the Iowa caucuses; and now find myself back in Chicago. Here I am: unemployed, homeless, and trying to make moves.

It’s exciting and frustrating at the same time. My current goal (among many) is to have a job and a place to live by the time I turn 24 on the 29th. This is just the latest incarnation of a goal I had set while still in Tokyo, but which was significantly altered by that pesky non-payment of wages. Nova drama aside, things worked out pretty well for me as I found myself in a situation where I was able to pick up and go to Iowa on slightly more than a moment’s notice. And it was being in Iowa that ultimately brought me back to Chicago. When my options for rides back to the East Coast fell through, and I realized that flying from Des Moines to Raleigh was prohibitively expensive (for my budget at least) I thought – well, if I can at least get to Chicago I can get a cheap flight to the East Coast from there… wait, if I’m going to Chicago then this is my chance to make it happen! And so I’m here, staying with good friends in Lincoln Park, trudging though the city in cold weather with an even colder wind chill factor, searching for housing and employment.

Any employment. I’d love a communications job but really I’d just like to be paid. I realized the other day that for the past 4 months I have been either a) fully employed and not paid; b) unemployed; c) minimally employed and thus minimally paid; or d) employed, overworked and underpaid – which was totally my choice. So given P as my cumulative wages: P = ∑ (-1 + 0 + 0.5 + 0.75). Which is to say, I’m broke.

This is actually NOT what I intended to blog about at all, but that’s what came out so that’s what goes up.  I’ve been remiss with my blog lately but more will come soon, I promise.

It couldn’t be him.  The hair was the same – distinctive dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail… the height and build seemed familiar to me… and the guy I know also had glasses… but the guy I know lives in Tokyo!  So of course it wasn’t him.  I mean, what are the odds that while I’m sitting in the Borders cafe in Chapel Hill a friend from Tokyo would be browsing the magazines?  Absolutely impos….

Wow!  I couldn’t believe it and I still can’t.  I ran into a friend from Tokyo at Borders?!  The scene was like straight from a movie.  I kept looking over, trying not to stare, trying to figure out why this person looked familiar.  When he caught my gaze his eyes popped open and it was a complete NUH – UH moment.  Absolute craziness.

He had a little bit of time to chat and it felt so good to spend even just a few minutes with a person from my past life.  He asked me what souvenirs he should bring back for people in Japan (and for himself), so I went through a list of my favorite things that aren’t available over there… like twix.  And hair products.  Then I couldn’t help myself, I started reminiscing about some of the things I dearly miss about Tokyo – especially my umbrella, and the general appreciation of umbrella aesthetics that abounds in Tokyo.  It was so great to see him.  I’m a little jealous that he gets to go back and see a mutual friend of ours but I’m still 100% happy with my decision to come home.

Earlier today a friend in Israel (I heart gchat) asked me this question:
“ma ha matzav itach?”
which means, ‘what’s going on,’ ‘what’s your situation’ or ‘what’s happening in your world’ in Hebrew.

Well. My situation of late has been kind of wierd. I’ve been feeling very wierd lately. Distracted, but not busy. Ambitous but not motivated. I have ideas and desires but absolutely no sense of direction.

I’m sure part of this is general re-adjustment malaise. A couple of friends gave me advice about this before I left. Both people had taught with Nova, returned to the U.S. and then come back to Japan. One told me that when I got home I would be really depressed because living abroad is a challenge but living at home is so easy so I might feel like I’m not accomplishing anything. I think part of that certainly is true for me. Tokyo was so stimulating – overwhelming at times – but generally I loved the energy. Chapel Hill is… not. This is such a low density area. Everybody drives! There is so much open space, so many strip malls. In Tokyo buildings and people were packed very closely and the trains and buses went just about anywhere. I loved walking, using my bicycle and riding public transportation. I can’t do that here and that bothers me. I’d love to ride my bicycle around town but I don’t have the stamina for that and I wouldn’t feel safe on all the roads. I can walk to a Borders bookstore which is great, but that’s about it. Chapel Hill offers free buses which is fantastic but the area where I live has pretty limited service. So I end up driving just about everywhere and I DON’T feel good about that. I hate that I have to drive – for a lot of reasons – but there’s no way around it.

I think the other part of my malaise has to do with Nova. There’s just no way around it… I had a plan, I had direction – then I lost a month’s pay and that completely stripped me of the resources I would have used to execute my plan. So it’s like, what now??? Nova owes me $2500-$3000. Under the current circumstances it’s going to take quite some time for me to earn that back (with my 2 part time jobs). And on top of that I have student debt that I must pay off every month regardless of how much I make. I constantly feel frustrated and defeated. I’m not severely unhappy in Chapel Hill but it’s certainly not where I had planned to be. I wanted to return to Chicago soon after Tokyo for a reason (many reasons) and my feelings about that haven’t changed.

But I’m here… indefinitely? My goal is still to move back to Chicago but it’s difficult to hold on to that idea when I’m not even making enough money to support myself… let alone move halfway across the country.
::sigh::

So there you have it… that’s my matzav. Hope yours is better!

I am seriously lacking in motivation right now. It’s not even that I’m still distracted by tv. I don’t know what it is… I just can’t bring myself to do anything. I would like to write – I know that a lot has been happening with Nova – in general there are things happening in my life and the world at-large that I would like to cover. But, well… I just can’t seem to get myself to do anything productive. Maybe this is part of adjusting to life back in the States?

I have so much to blog about – the Nova story continues to unfold (and people continue not to be paid), I’m experiencing new things back in the United States, etc… But honestly, I’m so captivated by the TV! It’s kind of like when I moved to Mitaka in February and ‘re-discovered’ cable. All I want to do is watch TV. And I’m a huge fan of music videos, so even if nothing is on I’m content to watch videos until a suitable program comes on. I’m not sure when the novelty of TV will wear off, but I’ll try to get back to the blog before it does. ^_^

I almost forgot to tip when I paid my bill at a restaurant tonight. Luckily I was chatting with people at the bar and I remembered before I left. It’s been quite a while since I had to leave a tip.

I’ve had a lot of driving firsts – my first freeway. My first freeway at night. A few days ago I had my first night driving in heavy rain. Taking the utmost caution I gripped my steering wheel squarely in the 10-2 position, and drove about 30mph (in a 35 zone) up a hill. Thankfully there was no one behind me, as I’m sure the driver would have been very frustrated.
My parking is terrible. No matter how many times I pull back to try to straighten up it inevitably looks like I swung in, in a hurry. I have yet to back in or parallel park… Maybe I can avoid doing that for the next 80 or so years?

I’m getting used to a different email cycle. Due to the time difference if I was going to get email I usually received it all by the time I woke up. Most of the people who sent me email were in America and their day was ending around the time that mine began. Here I don’t necessarily have anything when I wake up but it comes throughout the day. It’s something to get used to.

I’m still re-orienting myself. My dad moved across town while I was gone, so things that used to be far are now convenient, and vice versa. That has compounded the experience of re-acclimating to life in the U.S. and at home. In addition, all my things from the previous place were packed up in boxes so after I unpacked my suitcases I started in on the boxes. I’m almost done.