Thursday, March 15, 2007

Prescience

There is a madness in the weather here and it may be driving me crazy. Some days Korea is cold, so cold my bones feel fully chilled with it and I have no hope for ever having respite from such freeze. Other days the weather warms and the birds hiccup frog-like outside my windows. I call them the little monk birds because they strum and thrum out their bleated call like a monk in full meditation and prayer, dolling out the proper om's in the proper fashions. The delusional state of the weather makes it impossible to dress and strings my moods along, making everything constantly too and fro.

Monday the air is crisp and cold and I wrap up in my scarf to brave the cold. Monday is bad and full of bad omens. I trip, fall, stumble, drop, break, destroy, obliterate, all manner of things throughout the day. My mood in class is effected by the weather and my cold and my clumsiness. I am loathsome and distracted. I'm resolved. I'm any manner of indescribable things. I want to be warm, I want relief from this constant revolving of change.

Tuesday is little better but my mood is lightened for some reason. I feel found, I feel light. I leave the scarf at home and just go out bare headed not minding the wind blowing through my still tangled wet curls. I smile and the birds which hid on Monday are out and alive. Trees are blossoming. The cherry blossoms have started to bud in the park and soon they will perk up. By the end of March my walk will be a cherry blossom white covered snow path. This make me feel full, alive, happy. Creative. I go to my art space that night and I paint and bring to life my own creation, my death, my rebirth. All manner of things are good. I feel good with it.

Wednesday is a bit warmer still. My mood holds from Tuesday but the day and the schedule wear me down. I forget some Korean words, have teachers yell loudly in my classroom which always upsets me. I go to the gym and pull a string in my arm which makes lifting my weights nearly impossible. I give up after pressing about 51 kilos and decide that anymore might actually be harmful. I walk into the dressing room and the naked hajuma has a leg up on the stool and is yelling loudly into the phone at her daughter. I feel tired of yelling.

Today is Thursday and it is a mix of hot and cold. My feelings waver between the two and I'm not sure where I can be found in between them. I want sex and I want love. I want fucking and I want quiet time alone. I want to eat and I want to work out. I want to watch T.V. and I want to write. I want to play scrabble and I want to cut out all the words and make them disappear. Shove them into something so they cannot exist independent of thought, feeling, sentence, rhyme, structure, reason. Scrabble is a wicked game. It gives you so many words but so little context. It's cruelty to language in 72 square tiles. I rule the scrabble board by writing little vignettes in disconnected words across the checkered path.

The weather for tomorrow is slated at clear and sunny. I am filled with thirsty impetuosity for the coming day, the coming weekend; the thought of drink, and new friends, old friends, adventures, life and living makes my body warm and I'm sure it's more then the tequila I'm sipping now. It must be so much more.

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