Demon Chatter

Time marches on. Time waits for no one. Time serves as the river of the universe. As the old quote, variously (mis)attributed, goes: "time is what keeps everything in the universe from happening at once." Much time has passed since last writing in this blog. Much water under the bridge. Much life lived... perhaps wasted? Don't rightly know. However, the demons in my head know. They're glad to share, too. しょうがないね。

At the beginning of the current plague (pandemic, whatever) vowed to create something. Didn't happen. Got separated from family for over four months. Family got stuck in the 'States when Japan enacted a travel ban for high risk countries (i.e. the 'States.) Hell.. well over a quarter million dead there at the time of writing.

In the empty house, with so much time... did very little, really. (Amazing to learn how many waking moments normally consist of childcare.) Stayed in bed, for a day or three sometimes. Job shifted to an online platform. Set an alarm to wake up for five minutes, upload a lesson document, and go right the fuck back to sleep. Played PlayStation so goddamn much, actually got Platinum Trophies for three different games. Fixed a few things in the house. Ate takeout pizza and Indian at a statistically improbable rate. Did nothing creative. Nothing. Anxiety and depression feasted upon my time like rabid jackals tearing fresh meat from bones. Family okay? Gonna die of a strange, new illness? Work gonna return to normal? Anything gonna return to normal?

Family got back okay, thank providence. Now comes the demon chatter. "Why didn't you do more with all that time?" Indeed, why not? Because crippling anxiety and depression. The demons don't buy that. Not for a minute. They go on and on. しょうがないね。

Back in the office. Back doing work on actual, tactile paper again. Back to the cycle, which now includes additional details like masks, social distancing, hand sanitizer, and extra handwashing. Not a problem. Don't need to trim the mustache as much. A walrus lurks beneath this mask. Goo goo goo joob.

But the demons move on to other things. They dangle unavailable desires like great golden carrots on sticks. They mock this aging carcass. They offer unsolicited reminders of what has become undoable in light of current responsibilities and relationships. Things undoable in light of available time. Both time available in a day... and time remaining in life.

Looking ahead, can see a path obscured by haze.

Smoke from the dumpster fire of my next terrible decision?

Mist rising from the River Styx? Who can say with certainty...

Death waits for no one when the preordained time arrives.

But yet it waits for us all in the end, does it not?

Oh what I would do if I could, but I can't. しょうがないね。

Got the blog, anyway! 

Dark Red Tape

Trying to do better by the world.

Trying to reduce waste through various methods.  Order only as much food as necessary.  Avoid wasteful nonsense such as disposable razors and bottled water.   Use things until they break.  Try to mend things before replacing them outright.  Buy higher-quality products that last longer to begin with.

Voting with the wallet: patronizing businesses which exhibit greater social and environmental responsibility.  These businesses often have higher price tags because it costs real money to avoid things like exploiting workers living in poverty... especially workers in developing countries.  Luckily the household coffers suffice to support this endeavor.  Not everyone's do.

Another bugbear: plastic bags.  Especially here.  Japan has a tradition of meticulous wrapping techniques for gifts and merchandise called 風呂敷 (furoshiki). That, however, entailed reusable cloth. Marry that tradition with a modern culture of disposable packaging, and rampant, unrepentant baggery ensues.  Double bags.  Bags in bags.  Bag upon wretched bag.  Oh, the baggery.

To combat this, one may carry a reusable エコバッグ (eco bag) to use in lieu of the endless plastic bags.  However, fastidious and over-eager clerks encounter difficulty when asked to forego the bags.  Duty compels them.  Protocol compels them.  Red tape compels them... to tape.  They tape everyfuckingthing.  A large purchase of multiple, small items leads to store tape on each and every item.  This leads to cobwebs on clothes, irked glances from patrons in line, and unintended growth of a long white beard.

Would it kill you to just put the shit in the bag, please?  Pretty please?

Spring Broken

Working in a school gives access to a good vacation schedule.  Taking time off during normal classes presents difficulties, but the prescheduled vacation time makes it worth it.  Well, as long as one isn't a workaholic... or a sad robot who cannot differentiate employment from slavery (and probably works for a workaholic boss).  Not this carbon blob.  No sad robot here.  Vacation time!

Granted, having a toddler in the house changes the nature of vacations.  Sleeping in no longer occurs.  Down time becomes punctuated by childcare in its myriad guises.  But no problem.  The toddler in question was 100% intentional.  This makes the childrearing perhaps a little easier.  It's difficult to imagine dealing with all these things except caring for an unwanted child.  Slightly mind boggling, but it happens.  Oh, it happens.  But not here.

Still the little monkey takes a considerable mid-day nap and goes to bed at 20:00.  After that, Fallout time!  Released a while ago but a new DLC just came out.  Boo-ya!!

Work Related Injury

Presenteeism: a portmanteau word describing the act of working or attending classes despite being ill.  Manifold theories exist, as do various causes.  Scholars who study workplace dynamics generally agree presenteeism adversely affects productivity.  The Wikipedia article gives a decent topic overview and provides links to academic work on the subject.  The article is available in several languages... but not Japanese.  Not a thing, here.

There exists ample pressure at work in Japan to put in absurdly long hours to no observable purpose.  Workplaces measure work by the time spent at the office, perhaps as a display of company loyalty.  They do not judge each other on actual production.  Everyone seems very, very busy.  Busy, indeed... but not terribly productive (a common side effect of workaholism). The beehive thrums with purposeful buzzing, but the honey runs disproportionately thin compared to the amount of work which appears to occur.

Japan has a phenomenon called 過労死 (karoshi) which literally means "overwork death."  Perhaps, the ultimate work-related injury.  It happens a lot more here than in other industrialized countries.  People just don't know when to go home.  Reasons abound.  Fear of coworkers' judgement (especially senior coworkers).  Fear of reprimand from above. Fear of appearing disloyal to the company.  For the men folk, fear of going home to face their families.  Fear of rush hour trains.  Fear of fear itself.  Who knows, really.

This carbon blob, however, goes home at a normal time.  Some coworkers don't like that.  Don't care.  Have a son to take care of.  Probably disliked by most coworkers, anyway.  Which, back to presenteeism, probably why three years have passed without calling in sick.  Sick as a dog?  Work anyway.  Why?  Because fuck 'em, that's why!

Plus, gotta feed the student loan beast.
学費貸付の鬼に餌をやらなくちゃ。

Shall eat yonder, greener grass... thence barf forthwith.

Have a literal roomful of toys for the wee one.  Yet what does he yearn for?  The bold primary colors of the oversize Lego blocks?  The wee plastic turtle on wheels with a transparent shell wherein tiny plastic balls bounce around as it rolls?  Perhaps the brightly-colored plastic balls which come apart in halves and can be fit one within the other in the manner of Matryoshka dolls.

Nay, he yearns for none of these.

Instead, he yearns for things in the hands of nearby adults.  Bottles of carbonated beverage.  Books with easy-to-tear pages.  Smartphones.  CUPS OF HOT COFFEE.  It matters not.  You has: him wants.  Preferably something that could cause vomiting if drunk/eaten, scald if touched, leave a mark of some kind, inadvertently contact emergency services, stain, or require costly repairs/replacement when drooled upon and/or smashed.

Friends with children in university have intimated that this pattern continues almost indefinitely.

Actual Human Poo

Funny thing about having children: it provides a crash course in crap.  Literal crap.

(Warning: appetite spoilers follow.)

Babies who nurse produce a mild, yellow excrement redolent of Grey Poupon (no pun intended).  Oddly enough, the end product smells a tad like movie theater popcorn.  Probably, that results from milk having been exposed to acid, with remnant undigested fats rounding out the buttery bouquet.  (Of course, individual results may vary.)

Anyway, changing many much diapers enlightens one some.  Brings one down to earth.  Closer to the soil, anyway.  As a friend once said: today's dessert becomes tomorrow's poop.  True enough... and very Zen.   Circle of life, or something.  Now the wee one has begun eating solid food.

With the entrance of solid foods comes the exit of a different kind of excrement: a whole new number two, if you will.  Solid food brings a revolution to intestinal flora and a completely new set of metabolic by-products (occasionally including whole, undigested vegetables... mmm.)  Not the cute little baby poop anymore.  With the recent addition of meats and fish to his diet, diapers arrive brimming with the real McCoy: actual human poo.

The little shits grow up so fast.

Food Flakes for the Ego Fish.

The end of another school year has come.

Students fill out a questionnaire in the final class (an independent one: not mandated by the institution).  It has a number of questions regarding what the student feels they can or can't do (e.g. "I can introduce myself in English").  The same questions appear on the questionnaire distributed at the beginning of the year.  Those same papers go back to the students after they fill out the year-end ones so they can compare their answers.  It serves as a very tangible benchmark for improvement.  Such "can-do" lists have gained much popularity in language-learning circles.

The final questionnaire also includes open-ended questions regarding what they liked about the class, what they didn't like about the class, and any general comments they have.  The questionnaires have the students' names on them.  The lack of anonymity may curtail some honesty.  However, the answers seem relatively frank to the untrained eye.  Students regularly report things they didn't like.

Reading the answers to the "what did you like about the class" section of the questionnaire invariably serves as food flakes for the ego fish.  The students make such heartwarming comments about what they enjoyed.  Do the children just say what they believe the teacher wants to hear?  Dunno.  Is it all just sunshine for the bum?  Probably.  That doesn't diminish the warm fuzzies it generates.

The students make these comments even before they get the parting gifts for the class: souvenir bags with hand-drawn radish people doing adorable shit (among other things).  Gotta love kids.