Oh how I’ve missed you, Osaka

ooo a pretty flower.

ooo a pretty flower.

Random Observation/Comment #91: It had only been 3 weeks of traveling with no idea where to sleep and full-unplanned days, but this was enough time for me to be thankful for a comfortable bed and a reliable place to keep my belongings.  I long for such adventures, but I don’t know if this excitement is what I really I truly want.  Maybe it’s all an excuse to run away from commitments in relationships, careers, lifestyles, and everything that governs my life.  If I throw myself into a hole, will it help me make a ladder?  (That made sense in my head – very gnomic).

This would be my last week of a laundry list of luxuries.  Every moment needed to be embraced and enjoyed before returning to a routine lacking cute Japanese girls and a ridiculous number of vending machines.  I knew I would miss a lot of things from Osaka, so I gave myself time to experience all of my favorites one last time.  The names of a few girls popped into my mind, but I was reluctant to pursue.  I felt these sharp stabs of guilt plunged by my own hand.  It is all for the better.

I visited the lab to see some familiarity.  Kadiru had taken my seat, and the name “new Clemens” after I had left.  Everything looked the same.  I don’t know why I expected such a huge transformation; it had only been 3 weeks.  It felt like the beginning of the trip again.  There was lively conversation and I shared a lot of the pictures I had taken from Mt. Fuji.  Friends were not so impressed by the 6,000 pictures I took in 3 weeks, but rather shook their heads with a light dismissal of a recognized addiction.   I was surprised how well they knew me after only two months.

I guess someone could easily spot the photographer in me (I didn’t actually eat one) if they observed me for one day.  Every meal, situation, event, object, incident, occasion, or occurrence (I know most of those are synonyms) was recorded.  If three camera angles weren’t enough to tell the whole story, my soul stealing notepad would always clear things up.  Clearly, this was an indication of my problem.  It was an itch I couldn’t stop scratching.  Every other thought involved capturing the previous one in order to post it in a blog the next day.  It had taken control of my life.  My world revolved around writing about my world revolving around writing.  The recursion confused me, but yet I kept writing in circles.  Somehow, I had defined my words with the same letters in different orders.

I had lost all hope as I drowned in a sea of literary amusement.  Unfortunately for me, there was no easy cure.  There was no 12-step program where I could succumb to some religious salvation.  I needed to do this by myself and with my own willpower.  I started drinking to keep my mind from focusing on remembering every detail.  The steady buzz throughout the night left me social and consumed in sharing my opinions with other people.  I didn’t have the time to sit at home and write.  There weren’t enough sober hours in the day.

I would like to think I’ve recovered from this, but I often have nightmares where I just can’t stop writing in that notepad.  The camera grows arms and chokes me while blinding me with the flash.  Oh, the humanity… Luckily, my friends, black and tan, are not far away to cure my obsession.  Sure, you may say “it’s not healthy to cure an obsession (in this case, photography) by introducing an addiction (in this case, alcohol) to solve your problems.”  Well to that I say, umm… that’s a good point.

~See Lemons Just Chill

damn straight - I'm Brad Pitt.

damn straight - I'm Brad Pitt