So It is twelve days in. I will finish this chapter before or on Sunday.
That is a chapter a week. at this rate, i will have the book entirely written before the end of the year. One can hope.
I need to try and find a publisher. Someone who can look pass the shoddy prose and see that a method that causes you to lose 265 pounds can sell to a country spending billions on weight loss methods.
One can hope.
Then I can establish some writer street cred, tour the country, become a self-help speech giver, and write someone awesome with the money I make.
First though, Japan.
I want to explore, I am sick of America, and I want to get culture shocked into the back of my cranial cavity.
I want to cry, i want to HATE being away from home, I want to get OUT of my comfort zone and experience something new and different. When i start feeling uncomfortable as hell, when i want to give ANYTHING for a plane ticket, when i am terrified to leave my little Japanese Abode for fear of bumbling human interaction, i’ll know that I’m home.
Weird idea of home i know. But it is what i want. Sometimes the thing that we most need is made of the stuff that makes us want to cry. If we spend our lives wrapped up in little security blankets, how are we ever going to experience the wonder of a down-fresh comforter? Sorry to continue the blanket metaphor…but it had to happen. I for one am sick of my security blanket. My metaphorical blanket, not my literal one. I HAD a security blanket….his name was Bobby. I miss the HELL out of the literal blanket.
But really though. I know I’m going to miss the hell out of a lot of people, I know that my introverted ass is going to have a seriously rough few months, but i am banking on something truly wonderful happening. My life to grow and change.
I want it too, I need it too, and I think i’m ready for it too. (haha, that last bit works on two levels)
But my oh my…is that plane ride going to SUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKKK. I hate flying for thirty minutes, much less 18 hours or something.
I might literally die before we hit the Pacific. Or maybe we will crash and I will spend the rest of my life on an deserted island. Or i’ll be dead or something. That could work too.
Which brings us to tonights topic: WHY are planes so uncomfortable?
For me, i think it is the forced sitting. Don’t get me wrong….i simply LOVE to sit on my ass….as much as possible….as often as i can…but on MY terms.
I sort of have the rebellious personality that makes anything anyone TELLS me to do force me to want to do the opposite. “Here read this book for college…..nope, not doing it.” “Here…lose weight by the kiloton…anyone up for brunch?” “Here…sit still for hours on end…staring at some dudes head……umm no.”
There honestly needs to be a standing section on an airplane….A)more people could stand there….alleviating a room saving issue B) it will give people that “cooler talk” that is so effective at generating small talk and being comfortable. C) gives people some variation.
Just a thought.
The second thing i find horrid about airplanes is the recycled air.
It tastes like a combination of a stale vacuum bag and the breath of a dying sea creature. It is disgusting.
Airplane food is good though.
I’m not a very good judge of food though, because I pretty much think anything is good. I am a budding chefs self esteem boost. I love to eat anything and everything. I’ll do it with a smile on my face and a genuine liking of the dish in my heart. Does that belittle the compliments I give to chefs? I don’t think so. When does loving several different things at once change the amount in which you do so?
Simply put…it cant.
In a different light, I think i just supported polygamy….